The Only Truth
by Princess Garen
Summary: Garen Crownguard had never questioned the absolute truth that was the Demacian way of life. It wasn't until he clashed blades with Katarina DuCouteau, the reknowned Noxian assassin, that Garen realized that what is true was a great deal more complicated than it first appeared. Set against a backdrop of deceit, political games, and a continent sliding into chaos. Garen/Katarina
1. Alcohol Never Lies

_Hello summoners! Below is my first published fanfiction ever! I recently became addicted to League of Legends and fell in love with the lore behind the game. Garen was my first champion and he holds a special place in my heart and I was thrilled at the hints of romance in his story! After a lot of research I came up with this. I tried to follow the lore including the journal of justice entries as closely as possibly but with my own twists. I hope it's an enjoyable story to read and I would greatly appreciate feeback, positive and negative! Thanks! ~Princess Garen_

_ The Only Truth_

_**Summary**__: Garen Crownguard had never questioned the absolute truth that was the Demacian way of life. It wasn't until he clashed blades with Katarina DuCouteau, the reknowned Noxian assassin, that Garen realized that what was true was a great deal more complicated than it first appeared. Garen/Katarina_

* * *

_Chapter One: Alcohol Never Lies_

The first time Garen Crownguard had encountered her, it felt simultaneously like a few seconds and an eternity.

While his sword was locked in a power struggle against a Noxian soldier, he happened to spot her across the field in the split second his eyes were away from his own battle. She danced quickly and gracefully around a Demacian solider who was failing desperately to match her pace, becoming slower and slower as she added deep but non-fatal wounds for each of his missed strikes. Garen spared her a second more of his attention before it returned to the enemy soldier in front him, who he quickly overpowered, throwing him off-balance long enough to rend a fatal blow to his side. The Demacian forces were slowly pushing forward and when Garen spared another quick glance in her direction, he found her looking back as she whirled around another Demacian solider, her blades almost too quick to see. A spark of recognition crossed her face and she deftly threw a dagger into the soldier's eye and, within seconds, manuevered through the field to Garen's position.

"So," she grinned, "you're Garen Crownguard." She held a long interestingly shaped dagger in each of her slender hands, idly twirling one at her side while the other rested confidently on her curved hip. He didn't want to think how many more the assassin possessed hidden on her person.

However, he responded with a curt nod of affirmation and replied, "And you are Katarina DuCouteau, daughter of General DuCouteau of Noxus." She gave a harsh laugh in reply before assuming a ready stance. "Spare me the formalities! Let me tell you how this is going to go, Garen. I am going to kill you, take this area for Noxus, and then I'm gonna hang your big shiny sword above my fireplace! I hope you're ready to fail your beloved Demacia." Another coy smile graced her lips, a dimple forming in her right cheek. He almost laughed at the audacity of her statement. Almost.

Instead, he readied his sword, indicating her forward with a wave of his hand and a confident tilt of his head.

The next few minutes (hours? He couldn't tell) were a blur for Garen. She was the swiftest opponent he had ever faced and it was all he could do to block her swirling daggers and thrown knives. Their exchange was like an expertly choreographed dance: advances, withdrawals, spins and dips. He wasn't sure how long they were locked but the sun was beginning to fall on the battlefield; he was awed at her tenacity. Inwardly he found that he had no desire for their battle to end. However, similar to the soldier he had seen her fight before, the many wounds he sustained were hardly fatal but each one added to his fatigue. Likewise, although he had only landed a few blows on Katarina, they were deep and he could see they were taking their toll. They separated, breathing heavily, eyes scanning each other's faces. Garen briefly wondered what he looked like, noting the dark circles under her vivid green eyes. Where did that scar come from? He was suddenly feeling very dizzy and the din from the fighting surrounding them had dulled. Katarina lurched forward intending to launch into another attack, but stumbled slightly, clutching a wound on her left side. She cursed inwardly while forcing herself to stand and give the cheekiest smile she could muster.

"You're looking a little pale, Garen, how about I let you off the hook this time?" He scoffed at the question, but they both knew they were at their limits. The fading light of day glinted off her long red hair as she turned sharply, throwing one last knife in the commander's direction.

His knees shook and he slowly looked down at the blood trickling into the dirt and thought dimly that he should really see a medic. A cry from the Demacian troops snapped him from his reverie and he blinked to see the Noxians retreating. For now, the battle had ended.

The remainder of the evening had been spent retrieving fallen comrades, resetting their line forward, and determining the next move for Demacia. News of Garen's intense battle with the Sinister Blade of Noxus had been spread quickly by the witnesses, and he received commendations all evening for "sending the Noxian whore packing!", which he replied to with a firm nod or a simple statment of "for Demacia." He was certainly a man of few words.

With his duties completed the Demacian commander gratefully retreated to the solitude of his bunk. As he lay staring at the canvas tent roof above he reflected on the battle with Katarina. Her skill was undeniable; it had taken several of the finest potions Demacian medical mages had to offer before each of the wounds were closed. Every inch of skin not protected by armor had been expertly exploited, including the smallest gaps between the pieces of armor.

He gingerly ran a finger from the top of his left brow down his cheek, wondering who could be fast enough to mar her in such a way.

As he closed his eyes and willed his mind to stop, he noted, without humor, that his knees were still weak.

* * *

The next time Garen encountered her, it caught him completely off guard. Almost a month had passed since clashing with Katarina on the battlefield and, while he admittedly was eager to face her in combat again and sought her out, he found that he thought of her less and less with each skirmish that he fought in which she made no appearance. By the time he visited the Hasty Hammer he had nearly stopped thinking about her entirely.

The Hasty Hammer tavern in Kalamanda was frequented by the soldiers of the Dauntless Vanguard. Each week that passed in which they remained camped outside the tenuously neutral city ended with a regrouping at the tavern. Garen always declined to join his squad but the sense of boredom that had settled over him with increasing intensity since his one-on-one with the beautiful figurehead of Noxus was becoming unbearable. He sighed in instant regret as his subordinates delightedly plotted to intoxicate their commander, taking bets as to how much alcohol the huge man could consume before he couldn't stand.

However determined he had been to have a good time, his mood grew sour as he took a spot at the bar after being forced to wade through a sea of bodies. The noise was incessant and irritating. A soldier pushed a foaming mug at the surly commander and he joined them in a toast to Demacia.

By the bottom of his second mug the Vanguard had stopped harrassing their senior officer and he was left to brood over his third and fourth mug in relative peace. He practically scowled into the liquid. Why was his mood still so dark? Garen considered himself to be a reasonably content man but lately there was a change inside him for which he could not pinpoint the source.

The primary result of his mysterious change was the boredom. He couldn't recall the last time he had felt truly bored, yet here it was, hovering over his head like a dark cloud. It made him feel tired and chronically annoyed, a fact which the Vanguard had begun to notice. His hopes for a reprieve at the bar were sorely let down.

It was during his fifth mug that door to the tavern swung open and silence descended. Rolling his eyes, he turned and without warning the feeling in his knees rushed back accompanied by the untimely inhilation of his drink. His face flushed; he wouldn't let himself-

The silence was broken by his choking cough.

A subordinate quickly jumped to his aid, slapping him heartily on the back while the others laughed hysterically. Chatter resumed as the small band of Noxians drifted into the crowd, while Katarina sauntered directly to the bar, signaling to the bartender. To Garen's horror she took the empty seat to his left.

He stared miserably into his now empty mug. This was a nightmare! The Noxian representative, a well known assassin, was sitting next to him and he, the paragon of Damacian ethic, had nothing to say. On one hand, to start a fight here would essentially be the final blow to the neutrality of Kalamanda, but on the other the Measured Tread dictated the deliverance of justice to known evil and to make matters worse-

"Hey, you're gonna burn a hole through the bar if you stare any harder."

-she was talking to him.

His head jerked up and he opened his mouth to reply but to save his life he couldn't form any words. His traitorous knees trembled. He could see her lips curve upward, an arched eyebrow, her intense green eyes looking at him.

"I...I do not consort with Noxians." Finally, he thought, something Demacia could be proud of. He met her gaze with a straight face, although he felt unusually warm. Probably the drink.

Her smile turned to a delicate pout and she turned to her drink. "But, the paper said that I left you..." she paused briefly looking back to him with an expression of mock hurt, "breathless."

Silence.

Garen signaled the bartender for another drink and the red-head snickered at the deliberate refusal to answer.

"Now I am truly curious!" she exclaimed, leaning onto the counter with her torso turned to face the Demacian. "Come now, Garen Crownguard! Tell me what you really think!" A taunt, willing him to attack.

"And why is the Sinister Blade of Noxus so desperate to know what a Demacian thinks?" Deflection; he wasn't going to fall for her tricks.

"Aww," she cooed, "but why _wouldn't _I want to know what a handsome man like you has to say about me? Even the shining example of Demacian ethic can't be immune to a little...Noxian _charm_." She was practically purring. A light jab to his morals, right where it hurt.

He turned to face her fully, leaning in with an equal amount of intensity. "No Noxian could ever shake my loyalty to Demacia. You are to me the most worthy opponent I have yet to face and I am '_breathless'_ at the idea of running you through with my blade." He took a drink to steady himself. "But since we're talking about charm, how'd you get that _charming_ scar across your eye?" Counteroffensive, unsuspected. Garen turned away, taking another deep drink from his mug. His heart hammered painfully in his chest and he noted with some pride that Katarina wore an expression of surprise for a brief moment before being replaced by her usual smirk. She turned, laughing something under her breath about how he wasn't as stupid as she thought.

Battle: Garen. Demacian moral upheld, desire to fight clear. It was after his small victory that he realized the tavern was growing unusually loud and he perked up immediately upon hearing the phrase "Demacian scum" followed by the sounds of a swift punch and a flipping table.

The commander rose from the bar carefully, noting with annoyance that everything was a little swimmy and berated himself for being so careless. Katarina turned curiously but upon seeing the brawl that was breaking out between her soldiers and the Demacians she too jumped up, taking one last swig of her drink, and quickly tried to control the nearest Noxian.

"What the hell is going on here?!" Garen's soldiers normally would have strightened into order at the commander's voice but alcohol was clouding everyone's judgement and they merely became more unruly. Cries of "Noxian assholes!" and "Why are you trying to stop us?!" mingled in the air with "Demacian dogs!" and "We'll fucking kill all of you!" and Garen feared he was going to lose control of the situation.

Straightening to his full height he flung his arms out and in the loudest voice he could manage addressed the Vanguard: "Do you not remember that you are soldiers of the Demacian army?! Our orders are to maintain the neutrality of this city! Anyone who wants to challenge that will be court marshalled and sentenced by King Jarvan himself!" He glared expectantly at their quieted faces. "Any takers?!" A Noxian soldier quickly shouted, "King Jarvan can suck my dick!" but before any of the Demacian's could react, Katarina hurled a knife into the wooden support next to the offender's face.

"You think this is a fucking game?! Don't think the Noxian High Command will show any mercy to some grunts who disobey orders!" She glowered fiercely, flipping another small knife eagerly in her right hand.

Garen was surprised at her ability to so quickly silence the crowd, although he also recognized that she had been quite effective at silencing him. Shaking his head he shouted once more to the Vanguard, "You're all to return to camp immediately! MOVE!" Sullenly the soldiers shuffled out of the tavern, Garen follwing behind them.

"Hey Crownguard," Katarina called suddenly. He turned sharply, nearly losing his footing, but answered as cooly as possible, "What is it, DuCouteau?"  
She paused for a moment, staring intently at his face with and unreadable look on her own. Finally, she smiled a smile which was becoming familiar to him and replied, "What you said earlier; you make me breathless too."

He left without another word.


	2. Simply Magic

_Thank you so much to everyone here and on the LoL forum who read chapter 1 and an extra thanks to those who gave feedback and advice! I really appreciate it. I made some minor changes to the first chapter, mostly grammar and spelling but I did realize that I had portrayed Katarina as being rather flirtatious. I wanted her to be snarky and I fell short of the mark! XD A general rewrite may be in the future as I get more advice. I hope this chapter is an improvement over the last! This chapter begins with a major time jump, ten months. Because I'm following the Journal of Justice entries as a timeline, that was the rough amount of time between the tavern journal and the war over Kalamanda journal. Thanks again for reading! Sorry this chapter is so much longer than the first ^^; ~Princess Garen_

Simply Magic

* * *

Ten months had passed since the incident at the Hasty Hammer tavern and the political tension in Kalamanda had only continued growing. With the collapse of the Demacian mine, Demacia and Noxus were bristling over who was to blame. The body of a Noxian had been uncovered along with explosives at the point of fault in the mine but before Demacia could obtain exclusive rights to mine in Kalamanda, the Noxians had come forward with counter-evidence: a Demacian soldier who claimed to have planted the body to frame Noxus, which King Jarvan III openly denied. After several months of debate, the soldier was found poisoned before the date he was to give his testimony and, to muddle matters for Demacia further, the Noxian General Boram Darkwill was found dead outside Kalamanda a month later.

Although neither city-state had yet to defy the League and make the declaration of war, each allowed their troops to spread ever closer, hoping the other would crack first. With their growing proximity, everyone in Valoran was on edge; it was a war ten months in the making.

To Garen's dismay, his status as a League champion had promoted him to the position of Representative of Demacia in Kalamanda in light of the ongoing conflicts. Politics and statements were not his forte and to add to his uneasiness, the reticent commander was often called upon to work with a certain Noxian representative whom he would have much rather met on the battlefield. There he was her equal but in the realm of politics he felt that she was superior, knowing better than he what to say, when to smile, and when to threaten. Garen simply threatened.

With their political encounters occuring at least once a week for the past ten months, he found that Katarina DuCouteau was often the last thing he thought about before falling into a restless sleep. He constantly replayed their verbal exchanges in hopes of discovering a weakness, but she seemed infallible. Most of the time he ended up derailing from his attempts at tactical planning and thinking instead of the way her lips curled in pleasure as she taunted, teased, and made thinly veiled threats towards him, or the soft feel of her fingers that lingered just a moment longer than necessary when they shook hands at the start and end of each discussion.

Occasionally he even drifted back to her words at the tavern. Handsome? Breathless? He understood the latter to be a play on their earlier conversation; she considered him a worthwhile opponent and desired to kill him. Fine, but the former insult (compliment?) had been entirely unprovoked. What was the purpose behind it? Every time he would come to the conclusion that she was only trying to weaken his resolve and he would pledge to never think of her again, which inevitably never worked.

Currently, the commander was entertaining these thoughts while lying in his bunk, waiting for the call to rise for the day, and already they were drifting back along the familiar path to _her_. He shook his head in disgust; this was getting ridiculous, bordering on unhealthy obsession. He wondered if he should keep his troubles with the assassin from Prince Jarvan, but just as suddenly as the thought surfaced he realized his error. There was nothing he could (or should) keep from his rulers and he mentally apologized to Demacia for such an unloyal thought. Yes, he would have to let Jarvan know sooner or later, especially if it began to interfere with his duties to Demacia.

Deciding that no good would come of thinking on the issue further, Garen groaned and forced himself out of his cot. With dawn still around thirty minutes away, the commander declined to don his full armor, opting only for his pants and shirt, a combat knife strapped to his leg, boots and belt. Stepping out into the still morning, he committed to jogging around the camp until his mind was clear or he threw up, whichever came first.

* * *

"Commander Garen! A message from his majesty Prince Jarvan Lightshield the Fourth!"

It was midday and Garen was consulting with his captains about some incoming shipments when a courier had approached him. "His majesty requests your presence immediately."

"Is Prince Jarvan here?" Garen questioned, confused. Jarvan rarely appeared without notice and always requested an escort to and from places from the Vanguard. "I shall assemble the Vanguard-"

"Sir, his majesty requests you alone. Please follow me to his location as soon as possible."

Garen, although slightly stunned, nodded his assent and quickly finished directing his subordinates. Ensuring he was fully equipped in the event there was trouble wherever he was going, the commander set out after the courier west away from the camp.

It was nearly an hour of travel by horse, but finally Garen spotted the small caravan which the courier identified as Jarvan's. Garen had his suspicions: the Demacian flag wasn't even flying from the carriage top. Nevertheless, he approached the carriage and rapped a few times in quick succession. The door flung open and Garen was relieved instantly to see the face of his childhood friend, Jarvan IV.

"Your majesty, I came as soon as I received your message-"

"Good, get in here, quick." Jarvan interrupted, motioning him inside. "Also, drop the formalities for a bit Garen, I'm tired of politics."

Garen wondered wryly if everyone thought he was too formal. However, he climbed inside the now cramped carriage which Jarvan signaled to proceed moving.

"I know this is unorthodox and sudden but I must start by asking: Do you trust me Garen?" Jarven peered intently at his friend, the picture of seriousness. This was turning into a very strange day, Garen thought, taken aback once again.

"You shouldn't even ask Jarvan. We've been friend since childhood. I trust you with my life."

The prince sighed and leaned back as much as his armor would allow. "I know, but well...I can't give you all the details yet but things are possibly going to become more complicated between Demacia and Noxus." Garen snorted. "More complicated than they are now? Is that even possible?"

"Believe me I know it sounds crazy but anticipate it anyway. This is why I need your full trust." Glancing at the commander from the corner of his eye he stated, "Tomorrow, I'm going after Swain."

Garen was shocked. "If you're going to start a war, why not send the Vanguard after him?! We are expendable but you..." he trailed off.

"Don't say that Garen," Jarven replied quietly, closing his eyes. "Anyway, I've made up my mind. I have a letter from a reliable source that says Noxus plans to attack tomorrow, so I want to make the first strike. But I need you to do something while I'm fighting him."

"Whatever you need."

Again Jarvan sighed but he continued with what sounded like an apology in his tone. "What do you know about Katarina DuCouteau?"

Cue knees.

His silence lingered just long enough that Jarvan began to chuckle softly. "My God are the rumors true Garen?"

Rumors? Gods this moment had to be the most embarrassing moment in his career. His face was burning but he managed to stammer out, "R-rumors are only rumors Jarvan. Kat-er, she is...she is a fierce fighter and I-is there any particular reason you're asking this? Surely you have more information about her than I..." It was impossible to keep the irritation out of his voice, especially since Jarvan had not ceased laughing since Garen began talking.

"Fair enough. I do have some information but you are the only one to have fought her and lived to speak of it, and you see her on a regular basis. I was just wondering if there was anything you noticed about her through your encounters that may be of importance to Demacia..."

Garen broke eye contact with his friend to stare numbly at his hands folded in his lap. What was he supposed to say to that? Suddenly he felt very ashamed. He had noticed the intensity of her eyes and the way her right cheek dimpled when she smiled, the way she looked like she was dancing while she attacked and how cutting and intelligent she was. What use was any of this to Demacia? His silence coupled with the tormented look which had slowly spread across his face finally prompted Jarvan to reach out and gently grab his arm. "Garen...?"

"I...I can't stop thinking about her," he blurted out. "She is my equal on the field and, and she always says things and, I'm constantly trying and failing to understand why I can't...stop thinking... about her. I..." he looked helplessly at his friend's deeply surprised face. "What use am I to Demacia anymore? What is wrong with me, Jarvan?"

Jarvan remained silent for what seemed like hours, to Garen's chagrin. Jarvan was his friend but he had his own obligations to uphold Demacian morals. He felt the impending end of his military career. A dishonorable discharge for sure, exile maybe. What would he do with his life? Since he was a child he had been expected to rise through the ranks of the Demacian military and he would be nothing without it. He was interrupted from his black trance when Jarvan finally spoke.

"I'll be honest, I'm not sure what to say exactly. I can understand that you think of her as your equal and that might be..." he spoke gently, "_confusing_ you. Do you think it's possible that she used some kind of magic to try and damage your mind? They surely fear what will happen if you continue leading the charge against Noxus."

It was like a light went off in Garen's mind; suddenly her words at the bar made sense. _Noxian charm_ of course, how could he have missed it? He relayed his realization to Jarvan who brightened considerably. "There you have it! There is some information valuable to Demacia. You should probably see a medic when you get the chance, I'm sure there is something they could do for you!" The black mood that had been weighing on the commander's shoulders lifted and he felt better than he had in weeks. Since he had no magical abilities himself he never once considered that there could be some kind of magic at the root of his disturbing behavior.

"This is the perfect opportunity to tell you what I need from you in the pending battle," Jarvan declared. "I need you to keep Katarina from interfering with my fight with Swain. Are you up to the challenge? Only you can do it."

Smiling broadly, Garen stated simply, "Upon my honor as a Demacian." Jarvan grinned, then turned serious again. "There is a...caveat to this, and as I said, I need you to trust me." He turned to face his friend and continued, "You can't kill her. You can't let her die. Just fight her, keep her preoccupied, but don't kill her."

"W-what?" he stammered, dumbfounded. "But that goes against the Measured Tread..." "This is an order from me directly. Please, Garen just trust me, it will work out."

There was no way the Demacian commander could refuse an order and he did trust his friend, so he simply nodded his affirmation. "Count on me." Jarvan visibly relaxed. "Good. We will be arriving at the camp soon, so I'll announce to ready for war as quickly and discreetly as possible. I'll go in first to scout the area, but make sure the Vanguard is ready to lead to charge after me." Garen rolled his eyes. "Please, we've prepared for this for months now. I'd worry about myself if I were you. Do you even remember how to hold a lance?" Jarvan laughed. For the rest of the trip the two exchanged quips and deliberately avoided mentioning the political storm that was on the horizon.

* * *

Dawn brought with it feelings of tension and excitement as the Demacian army rose and made their preparations for what they knew would be an exhausting day. Garen was particularly on edge and he repeated his personal orders like a mantra in his mind.

_Find Katarina, engage until Jarvan finishes Swain. Do not kill. Do not let die._  
_Find Katarina, engage until Jarvan finishes Swain. Do not kill. Do not let die._

He did not allow himself to dwell on the potential repercussions of deliberately restraining from killing a Noxian. Jarvan had assured him that all would work out. His duty was simply to follow orders.

_Find Katarina, engage until Jarvan finishes Swain. Do not kill. Do not let die._

Upon his arrival back at camp the day before he had immediately sought out the medic mages and briefly described the cure for which he was looking. They had eyed him skeptically but consented to treating him although they were unsure exactly what was wrong with the commander. A full round of several different types of spells were cast upon him and he instantly felt as though it had purified him. Take that! he thought triumphantly. He felt as though his mind had been purged of all the taint of Noxus and for added protection he took an item which reduced the effects of magic on its wearer. He was a new man and completely ready to face the assassin in battle.

_Find Katarina, engage until Jarvan finishes Swain. Do not kill. Do not let die._

Prince Jarvan IV passed back and forth along the front line of his troops, reminding the men and women why they were here: to uphold the just and righteous light of Demacia. Today they would surely overcome Noxus and spread Demacian justice. Garen awaited the charge front and center, offering what he hoped was a reassuring smile to his friend. Jarvan, however, merely nodded and continued pacing, his words bolstering his troops despite his reservations. Finally he turned and began his stealthy descent toward the Noxian army, picking his way through the brush and trees before finally coming upon the clearing where the Noxians were camped.  
He could see that the soldiers were only just beginning to wake and set about with their morning's duties. It seemed strange; it did not seem as though they were planning to attack at any point. However, before he could ponder the oddity further, the prince spotted the target of his advance, Jericho Swain, hobbling around the outer edges of the camp, and rational thought left his mind.

Jarvan took a deep breath to steady himself and rushed at the tactician with a shout of "DEMACIA!"  
At the sound of their prince's cry, the Demacian army deployed and the air was filled with the thundering sounds of the army's footsteps as they rushed in to aid their leader.

The Demacian Prince had timed it perfectly, and they crashed against the front line of the Noxian army in a wave of swords and spears, putting as much pressure on them as possible. Garen easily cut through the men before him, his eyes searching for his objective; he didn't have to wait long. As the soldiers broke through the front line, he saw her near the outskirts of the main force, lazily picking off soldiers with a few well-placed throwing knives. Orders in mind, he barreled toward her, and when he finally reached her position he wasted no time in launching an attack, to her delight.

"Were you looking for me?" she exclaimed sarcastically, easily dodging his blade. "I'm flattered!"

Garen merely gritted his teeth and pressed his attack. From the corner of his eye he could see Jarvan leap again at the master tactician with such force the ground fragmented around them, and the commander mentally readjusted his orders.

_Engage until Jarvan finishes Swain. Do not kill. Do not let die._

The pair clashed in a flurry of steel and sweat and blood, the battle around them fading into background noise. Effortlessly they weaved in and out the bodies around them, trading strikes and occasionally dispatching the surrounding soldiers of the opposing side who dared to cross their paths.

As the distressed sound of Swain's crow pierced the bubble in which they had been fighting, Katarina snapped her attention away from Garen and moved suddenly to advance in the tactician's direction. Without hesitation, the commander put himself in her path before she could, swiping at her and causing her to move back.  
The assassin tried to flash past him but he blocked her at every turn, making her yell out in frustration.

"Get out of the way!" she hissed, lunging at him, daggers whirling. He winced in pain as some of her blows landed against unarmored skin, cutting deep into the muscle, but he pushed forward, willing himself to strike again. Seeing the attack on their commander, several Demacian soldiers rushed Katarina only to be cut down but allowing Garen to follow with his own stab. She dodged barely, sustaining a moderate wound to her side but landing another deep strike, this time to the commander's back. Mentally calling on Demacia to lend him strength, Garen turned on his heel, swinging at Katarina's retreating form; he would not abandon his orders. The strike caught her on the back and she turned, green eyes flashing in anger.

With a smirk on his face, Garen taunted, "Looks like the assassin can still lose her cool!" He knew he had gotten under her skin as she screamed in annoyance, charging so quickly at him he could not block the dagger she plunged through his thigh. Falling to his knee and bearing the attack with as a straight a face as he could muster, Garen glanced at Prince Jarvan's location as he fell to find that the prince was no longer there. Following his gaze, Katarina paled to see that Swain too, had disappeared, and Garen took the moment of hesitation to swing at her although she easily blocked. To his surprise, rather than finish him off as she easily could have, she stared into his face for a brief second, a swirl of unknown emotions passing across her face. Then, with a haughty scoff, the assassin simply pulled her sword from his leg and retreated into the line of Noxians at her back.

Garen quickly rose and staggered backwards into his own subordinates and one of the soldiers grabbed his arm and helped him shuffle to the back of the force. He had lost so much blood, especially to her last attack that he was already growing dizzy. At least, he thought with a smile, he kept her away from Jarvan and Swain.  
The commander was hastily submitted to an intensive round of healing spells and potions, the healing mages forcing him to rest in his cot to regain his strength. Against his will, he lost consciousness for the better part of the day, awakening guiltily as retreats were being ordered. Seizing a passing mage, he inquired, "Where is Prince Jarvan?"

The mage, a girl who looked no older than sixteen, looked around hesitantly and after determining that there were none close enough to overhear, she leaned in and whispered, "His majesty was seen to have sustained an injury from Swain and retreated, but..." she trailed off uncertainly and continued in an even softer voice, "no one can seem to find him."

* * *

Five more days of war passed with no sign of Jarvan IV and Garen's feelings of guilt and anger grew. Why would he order him to fight Katarina at his own expense? He could see now that Jarvan's disappearance and probable capture was his own fault. Orders be damned, he should have stayed by the prince's side! To add to his anxiety further he hadn't seen the assassin since the first day and was convinced she had something to do with his disappearance.

With daylight spreading across the bloodied field, fighting between the city-states resumed. With single-minded purpose, Garen once again headed the charge, shouting words of encouragement to his soldiers. They would destroy Noxus today and recover their prince if it took every last one of them to do so.

It was midday before Katarina made her sudden appearance, cutting through several soldiers to his side at once in a whirl of blades. At the sight, Garen felt the culmination of the guilt and anger he had been harboring burst forth and with renewed energy he pressed forward a vicious attack on the Noxian assassin.

She barely blocked his quick blade and was forced to move back in the line, though Garen followed close behind. "Woah, what's your problem?" she called sarcastically, though a hint of surprise worked its way into her tone. Although Garen typically kept his thoughts to himself, he found that his anger was becoming uncontrollable and replied hotly, "What a stupid question! Where has Noxus taken Prince Jarvan?!" He spun, launching into another quick attack, sending her running to the fringe of the Noxian main force.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," came her cross retort as she countered with a feint and a failed attempt to strike from behind. Perhaps it was the anger or the anti-magic charm but Garen felt as though Katarina had lost some of her edge, which he fully intended to exploit. The commander dodged her attack, managing to land a glancing punch on her feminine face as she dashed past him. Katarina paused and touched her cheek, a red mark already formed under her fingers. Unexpectedly, she grinned. "Ooh, I like it when you play rough!"

Garen scoffed. "Shut it Noxian, your _charms_ aren't going to work on me any more." Harnessing the rage boiling in his gut, he launched himself at her, confident that he could put her out of commission without killing her and landed a deep strike on her thigh. She leapt backwards out of his range, a very cross look on her face, Garen noted with pleasure. "Looks like when your magic doesn't work I'm the better fighter," he taunted, pushing his advantage with another strike which she barely dodged.

Katarina quickly backed away, hurling more knives in his direction. "Seriously, what are you even talking about today you fucking moron?"

The commander dodged and lunged again, this time landing a glancing blow on her side. She flipped away, looking even more angry than before. Why was she still denying to answer? he thought judgmentally. He was certain she knew exactly what he was talking about. "I know what you meant by _'Noxian charm_'! You used magic to get inside my head and try to weaken my resolve! Such a low tactic to be expected of a Noxian assassin!"

If Garen didn't know better he would say the look of confusion that flashed across her face was genuine, but he wasn't going to be fooled again. He struck her again, this time landing a much deeper wound to her other thigh. Katarina stumbled and fell to the dirt and he immediately took advantage of her position, resting the point of his blade against her neck.

"You know what happened to prince Jarvan. You used magic on me to get inside my head. Admit to your actions! Lie again and I will not hesitate to end your life." He had her right where he wanted her; there was no way she could continue to lie in the face of certain death. To his surprise, she tilted her head back and let out a hearty laugh. "Oh you, you crack me up!" she mumbled. Matching his intense gaze, a knowing smile spread across her face.

"I don't know where your stupid prince is, and if you're obsessed with me, then the problem's on you. I don't have a single drop of magical ability."

Garen froze.

"Y-you're _lying_..." She had to be lying. If she wasn't lying...

"Let me tell you something about me, Garen." Katarina said, pushing his sword aside and rising shakily from the ground. "My younger sister was the DuCouteau child blessed and cursed with all the magical ability in the family. The only thing I got was a knack for killing people." She spread her arms, twirling a dagger in each hand. "What you see is what you get."

_Do not...kill...Do not...let...die..._

The Demacian commander exploded from his spot, his blade flashing wildly, with a cry of "LIAR!" Katarina stumbled backwards, barely blocking his hits, and finally he struck her right forearm, causing her to drop one of her daggers. She fell into a dead sprint, turning for the treeline with Garen close behind.

His thoughts were racing. If what she said was true, then the problem did lie with him; he was broken. She had to be lying... A burst of speed launched Garen at her back and he threw his entire weight into his shoulder, knocking her remaining dagger from her hand and forcing them both to the ground. They grappled, exchanging hits until his slid his hands around her neck. Katarina panicked and frantically pulled at his hands but he was relentless. Her face was turning a brilliant shade of red.

"Tell me the truth! What did you do to me?!" She finally managed to pull a knife from her pocket and stabbed it into his arm. He released her with a grunt of pain and she clawed at the ground, attempting to pull herself to her knees. Her muscles screamed for air. "I can't...use...magic!" she rasped.

Garen roared, pulled the knife from his arm, and charged at her again, this time pinning her arms and legs with his own. He squeezed her wrists in one of his large hands, holding the knife to her throat. Despite the training she had received, Katarina couldn't stop the cold fear from running through her body; this was how she was going to die.

_Find Katarina, engage until Jarvan finishes Swain.** Do not kill. Do not let die.**_  
_Find Katarina, engage until Jarvan finishes Swain. **Do not kill. Do not let die.**_

With a howl of fury the commander threw the blade into the bushes and seized her hands, one in each of his own, screaming into her face, "Why can't I stop thinking about you?!"

He didn't give her time to answer. Her eyes widened in shock as the Demacian pressed his lips against hers.

Katarina struggled against his restraint but he was simply too heavy to move. She found that the cold fear was being replaced with a burning that she couldn't describe. His lips were chapped and the stubble of his beard chafed against her chin but somehow the roughness was completely appropriate. Her struggling slowed, then stopped altogether.

In that moment, reality came hurtling back toward Garen. His eyes snapped open in horror and he pulled back suddenly, staring into her flushed face, his own face burning with shame (excitement?). His knees shook uncontrollably and as he quickly tried to stand, he stumbled backwards over her legs, landing face up on the ground. Without hesitation, Katarina quickly leapt to her feet, pulled out another knife, but stopped, hovering over him with an expression of confusion on her face.

Before either could react, time stopped.

* * *

The commander opened his eyes to find that he was inside the front hall of his family home in Demacia. A stab of nausea hit him and he fell to his knees, feeling as though his insides were twisting.

"Please son, you're embarrassing me. Pull yourself together." He looked up to the source of the chilly voice to find his mother, Lilia Crownguard, standing over him. Groaning inwardly he forced himself to stand despite the dizzying nausea that still gripped him. "What...what happened?" He was still wearing his battle attire, clutching his sword, covered in blood and grass stains. At least the knife wound he had sustained to his arm was healed, although the man purposefully avoided following that train of thought. Meanwhile his mother had motioned for him to follow her into the study.

"The League is what happened," she said in exasperation, taking a seat in a plush chair and deliberately refusing him permission to sit as well. Lilia Crownguard was a dainty looking woman who, although she only rose to Garen's chin, had a presence the size of a room. "They cast a temporal stasis bubble over the entire city of Kalamanda to stop the war with Noxus, then picked everyone out and sent them home." She cast a narrowed glare in his direction. "Took them two days to find you. Off in the woods with that Noxian assassin, lying on the ground no less, barely wounded."

Angrily, Garen shook his head and replied curtly, "I don't want to hear it, mother." Lilia clenched her fist and retorted, "And what about Prince Jarvan IV getting captured? Isn't it your job as the leader of the Vanguard to protect him?"

His heart sank. Gods he had been captured for sure? It really was his fault. "Jarvan ordered me to specifically focus my energies on fighting Katarina DuCouteau of Noxus," he muttered weakly. The blonde-haired woman looked away, disappointment clearly etched on her face. "You should go clean up and go to the barracks. The Vanguard will be needing their _leader_."

He lingered a moment in the study, but seeing that she had nothing more to say eventually turned and climbed the stairs to his room, shutting the door quietly behind him. Lilia swung between praising her son for his accomplishments or disparaging him for his failures, no matter how small and today was clearly a day for the latter, although for once he was inclined to agree with her; he had failed Demacia magnificently. Carefully he removed his armor and set it on the floor before drifting into the bathroom connected to his bedroom. He drew a hot bath and sank gratefully beneath the water.

Left alone with his thoughts he was forced to confront what had transpired in the forest.

He had kissed Katarina. No person or magic had forced him and yet, he had done it. He held his head underwater until his chest ached, briefly contemplating letting himself drown, but instead surfaced, taking a gasp of air. Even worse was that she didn't seem to object, though he knew deep down exactly what the worst aspect of the situation was.

Garen Crownguard had enjoyed it.

In fact, he could recall in perfect detail the way she had looked sprawled below him, her hair splayed out in the grass and the blood and dirt smudged on her cheeks. Despite the number of people he knew she had killed, she had felt so breakable underneath him, her tiny wrists and thin legs. She was certainly beautiful...and very much a woman. He flushed.

Why did she have to be a Noxian? Garen banished the thought quickly with a small degree of shame. He should not, could not think of something so completely forbidden, and with the political tension most likely dissipated after what his mother told him it was likely he would not see her again. Perhaps over time he would forget her as had before and he could go on with his life. A twinge of regret stung in his chest.

She had been the perfect opponent.


	3. Lost in the Woods

_Hello again! Thanks so much for the continued reviews and reads! I appreciate every single one, I really do. I hope everyone feels a little like they're getting to know Garen and that the story is going a good direction. If you want to read a great story that is tied into my plot, I encourage you to read the fic "The Deceiver Unmasked" on the LoL forum by my friend Tootsie20 (he's not nearly as long-winded as I am .)! That's my plug for today :) Anyway, on to chapter 3! _

_Lost in the Woods_

* * *

It was nearly two months to the day that time had been stopped in Kalamada when Jarvan finally reappeared in Demacia. Since the day Garen woke in his house after the battle, the Dauntless Vanguard had searched for any trace of the prince's whereabouts to no avail. His arrival was a complete surprise and the Vanguard commander rushed to the gates to meet him.

"Prince Jarvan!" he called, working his way through the crowd of people welcoming the prince home. Noticing the two prisoners the prince had in tow he added, "Allow me to assist you."

To his surprise, he was completely rebuffed by the prince, who ordered him curtly, "Stand down." However, after the statement his friend discreetly placed two fingers against the side of his face, a motion Garen recognized as an old childhood symbol that he would meet with him later. He nodded, letting Jarvan pass by, who continued to ignore the surrounding crowds of his subjects.

What could possibly be so important that Jarvan couldn't even hint as to what was going on? Thinking back on their conversation before the short-lived war, Garen sighed and resolved that, although things were indeed more complicated than he imagined, all he could do was trust his friend.

Later the same day, Garen strolled through the castle halls, making his way to Jarvan's private study and knocking quietly on the heavy wooden door. "Garen, is that you?" Jarvan called quietly from the other side. The commander answered in the affirmative and was quickly rushed inside, the prince locking the door behind him.

"I'm glad you remembered the signal," he muttered sheepishly, "and I'm sorry for being so cold earlier. It's just...well, I said things would get complicated didn't I?"

Garen crossed his arms expectantly."About that, what's even going on anymore? Where were you for the past two months? Were you captured? How did you get back?"

Jarvan grinned, holding up his hands in a request for silence. "Well, mother, why don't I just start from the beginning? I hope you're ready for a long story." The prince walked over to his desk, unlocked a drawer, pulled out a piece of paper, and with a deep breath, began speaking. "About a week before the war in Kalamanda I received this letter from a... reliable source." He handed the paper to Garen, who stared disdainfully at his friend for a moment before taking it from his hand.

7-10  
There is something deeper going on between Noxus  
and Demacia. I have traced the following discrepancies  
surrounding the collapse of the Kalamanda mine, the  
death of the Demacian soldier and Noxian general. If you  
wish to assist me in following this trail to its root then  
I need to know that you are committed to uncovering  
the truth. Meet me tomorrow within the archives of  
the Institute of War.

Come alone.

Garen's hands shook as he read, finally crunching the paper in his fist upon finishing and turning on the prince. "Seriously?! 'Come alone?' Why didn't you at least tell me?!" Jarvan laughed awkwardly and raised his hands in defense. "C'mon Garen think about it! They have access to the Institute of War, so they were either a Champion, Summoner, or Counselor. Plus, with all the restrictions on people within the Institute, it's not like they could really do anything. _AND_," he added with a slightly smug look on his face, "if I went missing, people would notice. Obviously."

Jarvan's 'reassurance' did little to alleviate the frown on Garen's face. "So who was the source?" the commander sullenly inquired. "Patience! I'm getting there," his friend replied with a grin. Clearly, the prince enjoyed the attention.

"So I met with this person and listened to their evidence and reasons. Turns out they were very compelling but of course I did a little investigation on my own, just to be sure. And...it turns out, they were on to something."

"So what does this have to do with where you were the last two months?" Garen pressed.

"Well, this is where things get unsettling," said Jarvan with considerably less excitement. "The day before we attacked, I said I had received a letter about Noxus preparing an attack. When I went ahead of the force to scout the area...well, it didn't even look like they were up for the day yet, much less getting ready for an attack."

Garen anticipated he knew the answer, but asked his friend anyway. "If that's the case then why did you attack?" Jarvan broke eye contact to gaze blankly at the wall and said, "I saw Swain and I just...couldn't stop myself. When I see him I just get so furious and I have to do something."The Demacian commander nodded."I understand. Then, what happened during the fight? Where did you go?"

Jarvan's face turned sour as he recollected the next part of his tale. "Everything was going fine, in fact, I think I was winning. But..." His expression had grown puzzled, "I don't know, I felt that shiver up my spine, like when someone's looking at you from behind, and reflected on Swain's breastplate, there was a woman's face."

Garen raised an eyebrow, encouraging his friend to finish. "It was strange, Garen. I swear I saw her reflection and I turned around to attack but there was no one there." "Did you recognize her?" The commander was inclined to attribute his friend's description to sleeplessness or the rush of battle, but Jarvan looked so genuinely disturbed that he humored him.

"Well it's funny," he replied, perking up slightly, "because she looked familiar to me but I couldn't place where I had seen her before. She had dark hair and pale skin and...that's all I've got." Garen rolled his eyes. "That's not particularly helpful. Maybe you were just hallucinating."

Jarvan let out a tense laugh implying that he thought otherwise, but conceded that it was possible. "In any case, Swain ripped me to shreds with his damn crows after that, so I had to fall back. I went straight to my tent and penned a letter to my informant asking why they said Noxus was going to attack when they clearly weren't and went to meet them, and you know what they said?" He raised his eyebrows and paused, hoping to increase the suspense. Garen was not amused. "I'm more interested in how you got to them so fast."

"Killjoy," Jarvan stated, again ignoring Garen't inquiry about the mysterious informant. "They said that they had written no such letter. That's when we realized that there were things much larger going on than just a collapsed mine and some dead soldiers. So I...thought I would leave, do a little digging with them. I wanted to apologize to you though, for leaving after that. I imagine that did not cast a good light on you, especially since I ordered you to keep Katarina away from the fight. How did that go by the way?"

Dejectedly Garen rubbed his face and sighed. He could tell Jarvan expected forgiveness, but he intended to give the commander a piece of what he had been through before he ultimately complied. "She stabbed me through the leg, Jarvan. I've been getting dirty looks from everyone for two months and you won't believe the crap from my mother." This time Garen looked expectantly at his friend.

"I'm...sorry Garen I had no idea," he mumbled. It was enough of an apology for the commander, who simply waved his hand and muttered, "It's fine." A brief silence followed before he asked, "So, does the King know about this?" "Some," Jarvan replied hesitantly. "I informed him of the possibilities of a conspiracy but he needs harder proof than what I have to really counteract the League. I did happen to neglect telling him who my informant was."

"Speaking of that, who is your informant?" he asked again, fully expecting his friend to go on another tangent. "I'm glad you asked!" Jarvan exclaimed as though the commander had not asked thrice already. "She's actually here, although, I trust you will keep it an absolute secret."

Garen raised an eyebrow. "She?"

A slender hand slid across his back. Red hair, green eyes, a familiar mocking smile and a feeling in the knees. "Did you miss me, Garen Crownguard?"

The shocked commander stared in silence as Katarina simply laughed at his confusion. "I've been here this whole time. Does it unnerve you to know that I could have killed you a hundred times from the shadows while you stood here talking?" Helplessly he looked to Prince Jarvan. "Her?! How did she even get here?"

"Oh I walked through the gate right past you Garen, along with my brother Talon," she interjected coyly. "I'm hurt that you didn't recognize me by the way." Jarvan shrugged as Garen turned his disbelieving gaze back to him. "I had to get them in somehow. Talon is actually searching for some information now."

Holding his head in his hands, Garen finally fell wearily into a chair. "Will someone please explain this situation to me in full?" Katarina laughed again, walking past him to put a hand on Jarvan's shoulder. "I think we broke him, Jarvan." Garen's head snapped up. Jarvan? She was on first-name terms with-was she touching him? Suddenly he felt incredibly angry. "Just explain, _Katarina_," he snapped.

She raised a delicate eyebrow and crossed her arms defensively in front of her. "Touchy. Can't you ask nicely, _Garen_?" The commander glowered at the woman who had caused him so much mental anguish. She was infuriating! "I don't have to do anything for you, Noxian," came his haughty reply.

Green eyes flashed in anger. "Oh really? You don't owe anything to the one who kept your beloved prince from death in the Noxian underground? I don't recall you being there to do your job!" "You went to Noxus?! If you hadn't coaxed him there he wouldn't have been in danger!" he interjected curtly.

"Children, please calm yourselves," Jarvan interrupted, a touch of irritation in his tone. "Garen, I need you to co-operate with Katarina! Katarina, would you please inform Garen as to the situation?"

The assassin smiled sweetly at Jarvan. "Of course! Glad to see some Demacians know how to treat a woman." She looked pointedly at Garen but continued before he could speak. "I started to notice something wasn't adding up when General Darkwill turned up dead. It was Swain's own words that tipped me off; the Raedsel Guards are the best Noxus had to offer, better than the Dauntless Vanguard I dare say," she added, smirking at the glaring commander. "You must admit, there's absolutely no way they could have been killed by even the Vanguard in such an open field and in such an efficient manner that they couldn't even send a warning to the main force."

Garen mumbled his grudging assent. He had only encountered them a few times himself but the Raedsel Guards _had_ been incredibly formidable. Even at the skill level of his squad she made a valid point; if the Vanguard couldn't even be that efficient then...

"Then...it was an inside job?" Garen ventured to guess. Katarina clapped in mock delight. "Winner! Yes, my conclusion was that it had to be a setup, so I did a little investigation of my own and found a letter in Swain's files indicating that he should send Darkwill with his men to that location and that 'they', the letter writer, would take care of them. It was stamped with this," she said, as she pulled a letter from a pouch at side and showed him the image at the bottom, a black rose.

"Now this letter" she said, waving the paper in her hand, "was something left behind by my father." A bitter tone crept into her voice. "He has been...missing for some time. I was unaware of this letter until I shared my suspicions about the late General Darkwill with my younger sister, Cassiopeia." She directed a false smile towards Garen and said, "You know, the one I mentioned to you during our last fight before you went bat-shit crazy and ki-" "RIGHT, YES," a panicked Garen loudly interrupted. "CONTINUE THE STORY. Please." Jarvan coughed awkwardly but said nothing.

Katarina snickered at his discomfort, but obliged. "Cassiopeia, it turns out, had this letter which our father left before he was mysteriously summoned away. I had no knowledge of this letter until she gave it to me as I was in Ionia at the time of his departure. But before I could look into the meaning of the note, the 'war' began in Kalamanda. However, I thought the evidence of Swain's betrayal of Darkwill, the possible setup of Demacia, and the involvement of this 'black rose' group would be enough to pique Jarvan's interest."

"Wait a minute," Garen intervened. "Why Jarvan, why a Demacian? That doesn't make any sense. Why not pursue the matter yourself? Demacia doesn't have anything to do with this."

To his surprise, Katarina remained quiet for a moment and replied quietly, "I am interested primarily in discovering the source of my father's...disappearance. No Noxian would have sympathy for that, and I would have no guarantee of their loyalty if I did try to recruit help." A wry smile twisted her face. "On the other hand, my information would be incredibly valuable to a Demacian as it would provide enough information against Swain to lead to a credible validation of war."

Anticipating Garen's train of thought indicated by his incredulous face, Katarina growled, "My father should have been the one in Swain's position! Instead the DuCouteau name has been run through the mud. Swain must have something to do with his disappearance and I will get my revenge." With a slightly more humble tone she added, "It's just, Swain is so powerful and with this 'Black Rose' group supporting him, I...can't do it alone."

Garen pressed his earlier question, "Then why a Demacian?" and surprised himself by wondering silently, why not me?

"The thing about you Demacian's is you're so damn honorable," Katarina said with a grin. "Jarvan gave his word that there would be no tie to me in the event of a war. Besides, if a war started, I would be able to kill as many of you as I pleased, and if Jarvan betrays me," she looked pointedly at the prince, "then I have no doubt that I could kill him from right under your nose." The last part of his sentence was said with such an air of smugness that the commander visibly cringed. Jarvan rolled his eyes and let her threat pass.

"So in any way this plays out, you come out on top, " Garen mused. "Jarvan, why would you even go along with this?"

"Well, at first the evidence that it could lead to another war against Noxus was enough for me to consider playing along, especially since there would need to be a good reason to go against the truce and the League. Demacian justice and all." He leaned forward in his chair with an air of intensity. "However, since this might go above even Swain, I believe could affect more than just Demacia and Noxus."

Garen found that his head was beginning to hurt, and he still had questions for his friend. "Just so I'm clear, you went behind my back to take a two month vacation and work with a Noxian assassin on the off-chance that you could start another war on Noxus under the guise of justice? I understand the end but are the means truly worth it, Jarvan? I...can't help but feel this goes against what Demacia stands for."

Jarvan IV shifted uncomfortably under his friend's scrutiny. "Garen...it might have started out like that but, try to understand. This is becoming more than just about Noxus and Demacia, or who's right or wrong; something big is going on that could affect all of Valoran. If I have to work with a Noxian to uncover the truth and bring justice then...then so be it!"

The Vanguard commander sat quietly, absorbing what the prince had said and the implications of what Jarvan was planning. For the first time in his life, the commander felt a hint of doubt about his city-state's actions. What if there were times before when Jarvan and Demacia acted under the mask of justice and honor only for self-serving goals? Even so, if this truly went above both Noxus and Demacia, people would need protection.

The three sat in silence for several minutes before Katarina finally spoke. "So, Garen, are you going to help or not?" The air filled with tension as he pondered the question.

Finally he spoke. "I'm yours to command."

* * *

The next few months took Garen in and out of Demacia helping Jarvan or Katarina track down information concerning truth behind the Demacian mine collapse, the poisoning of the soldier, and the mysterious black rose. Garen rarely even saw the elusive Talon, although occasionally Katarina would share information that he supplied to her about the activities of the Noxian underground.

Until now, the commander had given little thought to mystery, but he found that he was quite enjoying himself. The occasional travel provided a welcome relief from his routine duties around Demacia and The League, although he was considerably annoyed that he had begun to see his duties as routine. Everything had become muddled when she entered his life and he subsequently blamed his change in attitude on her. Inwardly, however, Garen couldn't help but embrace the sense of freedom that came with it, something he never realized he had lacked.

The time he spent with Katarina he (somewhat guiltily) considered an added bonus. Sometimes it was difficult for the commander to remember that, despite their mostly positive interactions, she was still a Noxian and only a means to an end.

Even so, Garen couldn't help but feel exhilarated by their interactions What had started as verbal battles when they couldn't fight and physical fights when they grew too agitated for words had softened into sarcastic quips and competitive sparring. He discovered that, despite what the military had indoctrinated him to believe about Noxians, Katarina held a deep sense of loyalty to her family which he was deeply surprised to see her putting before her loyalty to Noxus. When he questioned her about her motives he had not anticipated her answer.

"Wouldn't you do the same for you family?" It had caused the commander to contemplate the question in silence for a good portion of the day. His family had never been that close, his mother becoming considerably colder and expecting in years after his father's death, and although he had once had a strong relationship with his sister Luxanna, they had been able to spend little time together with their duties in the Demacian military. It didn't change the fact that he loved his sister and his mother, but all the same, would he effectively betray the creed of his country for his family? He was shaken that he wasn't sure what he would have done in her position.

I should at least make time to go see Lux, he thought guiltily. The times he was able to visit with her, she had looked so...sad.

...Damn did Katarina make him think!

Currently, Garen was preparing to leave behind his duties in Demacia and sneak away with the assassin on what they were hoping would be a fruitful investigation within the well-known Ivory Ward district of Noxus. The Ivory Ward had recently been destroyed by riots caused by the power vacuum in the Noxian High Command, and although Katarina had been anxious to visit the location on the letter left behind by her father, the climate of the district, until recently, had been too chaotic and heavily secured to allow a thorough investigation. Garen was particularly on edge; he had never been inside the city-state of Noxus and was anxious as to what they would find.

"Two things you need to know about Noxus," Katarina described while she instructed Garen on what to bring on their excursion. "First, act like you either know exactly what's going on or that you don't care what's going on. Second, no mercy, no honor. Noxians only value strength. If you look confused and act all 'high and mighty moral Demacian', you are going to find yourself dead in a gutter."

Yes, Garen was nervous. Even Katarina was feeling apprehensive. The naïve moral compass that was Garen Crownguard was not her first choice for this endeavor But, the commander had volunteered and even insisted on accompanying her.

Odd, she thought.

It was into their second day that the pair reached Kalamanda, the halfway point between their respective city-states. They had timed it poorly as it was already dark and they readily agreed that they should camp here for the night and resume at daybreak. Winter was in its early stages and Garen felt restless as he laid next to the fire on the cold ground, attempting to sleep. His mind was preoccupied with thoughts of what had transpired here nearly six months ago. Despite his hopes for improvement, he was even more confused now than he was then.

He had grown past denying that he harbored feelings for the Noxian assassin and moved towards begrudging acceptance. In loyalty to Demacia, however, he vowed to never act on his feelings again as he had on the battlefield that day. It didn't change that he didn't know what to expect of her. Would she betray them in the end? How long was Jarvan willing to work with her? More importantly to Garen now, how would Jarvan react if he knew he was smitten with the enemy? Some paragon of ethic he was. Surely this time if found out he would be stripped of rank and responsibility as he had feared would happen before.

"Hey, are you awake?" He startled out of his reverie as Katarina'a voice floated out of the still night. "Oh um, yes, why?" She shuffled around and he could see her shadowed face peering at him across the fire. His heart thumped painfully in his chest; firelight suited her. "Because I can practically hear the rusty wheels in your head turning," came her sharp reply, to which he rolled his eyes. "Actually, I'm having trouble sleeping," she confessed. "Spar with me?" Garen propped himself up on his elbow. "You do realize it's pitch black, right?" Katarina sat up as well, flashing him a grin. "What, scared you're gonna trip and impale yourself? Trust yourself and live a little!"

Trust himself, huh? Garen grunted, but consented in the end, picking up his sword but forgoing his armor; if she could do it, so could he. The fire was barely enough light to see with and with her dark clothing Katarina almost blended perfectly into the night. "I believe I am at a serious disadvantage here," the commander grumbled. "I think you just wanted an excuse to beat me up."

Katarina laughed and disappeared from his sight and he tensed instinctively, straining for any sound of movement and was rewarded with a cold blade rested against his neck. "I promise I won't kill you, how about that?" she taunted. Garen squinted and rushed her, only to see her melt into the shadows once more. "I think you're cheating," he called out to the darkness. He heard her laughter to his right and slashed with the flat of his sword at the sound only to feel her slap him in his left side with the flat of her own blade. "When you're in the light I can see you and you can't see me. You should try playing in the dark," she offered before darting away once more.

Garen shuffled uncomfortably, heart pounding, and stepped out of the circle of light. Gods, how did she see anything in this? Cautiously, he walked through the trees, painfully aware of how loud his boots sounded on the broken twigs and dead grass. At least his eyes were beginning to adjust. Where was she hiding? He heard a soft swish and instinctively leapt backwards, tripping over a root and dropping his sword but avoiding another hit to the side.

"See how much better you're doing already?" the woman teased, rapping him on the head with the pommel of her dagger. He grumbled and pushed himself to his feet. "Try following me," she ordered. "And listen with your gut. Don't rely so much on your eyes." With that advice she took off running, forcing the Demacian commander to follow blindly behind.

After a few minutes of jogging Garen stopped and peered around, listening in vain for some sound of her presence. It felt more like training than sparring, he thought crossly, but he still took a moment to mentally applaud himself for not tripping as he ran. Tentatively, he closed his eyes. He knew she would attack if he stood for too long, if he could just figure out when she was close...

A shiver ran down his spine and he snapped his eyes open and dashed forward, hitting Katarina in the stomach with the flat of his sword. She stumbled back but smiled broadly and pushed his blade aside. "Very good!" she congratulated. Garen was about to reply when, in two swift movements, she tossed her daggers aside and closed the gap between them, entwined her fingers in his hair and forced his lips to meet hers.

He couldn't stop it; he threw aside his own sword and wrapped his arms around her waist. He did not think about Demacia, the Measured Tread, or Justice and instead focused on the feel of her soft lips, the smooth skin of her back, the pressure of her body pressed against his. Her hands slid slowly down his firm chest and his knees shook at the feeling of her fingertips on his bare skin as she shifted them under his shirt. He gripped her hips and clasped them against his own, eliciting an obscene moan from the red-head and effectively shattering all thought processes Garen had left to him.

Body burning and knees buckling, he guided her firmly to the ground until he straddled her once again, her chest arching against his own, hands curved like claws across his back. He found his lips straying to her neck, her collarbone, back to her mouth and he quaked as another soft whimper escaped her. Slowly he ghosted his calloused fingers from her hips across her stomach, stopping to rest his hands around the curve of her breasts.

She made no move to stop him as his fingers carefully explored her body, nor did she stop him as he shifted his knee and pressed it between her legs, dragging another indecent sound from the assassin's lips. At that, a thought floated through the fog of the Demacian's mind and he considered briefly, did she want..._that_, from him? _Here?_

Garen suddenly broke away from her lips and lifted his hands, a deeply apologetic look on his face in contrast to her own confused expression. His face burned in the cold air and he stammered, "I-I...er, didn't...sorry!" as he quickly leapt away from her, grabbing his sword and running into the night, leaving Katarina behind.

* * *

Katarina hovered over Garen's fitfully sleeping form, a dagger in each hand. After his abrupt departure, she had remained on the cold ground contemplating what had just transpired. As a younger girl just introduced to the arts of assassination she had been passionate and prone to mistakes, two things she had vowed to correct; she wore the scar across her eye as a testament to her decision. Over the years she had tempered her passionate nature, never letting it interfere with her duties to Noxus.

Why then, she thought as she scowled up into the dark sky, did she feel like that same little girl now after working so hard to curb her flaws? She contemplated her actions for a while but eventually rose from the ground and made her way back to the camp where the last embers of the fire illuminated Garen's body. How long had she been lying there? The Demacian was already asleep. Unsheathing her daggers, she crouched beside him and placed one of the sharp blades near his neck. She could kill him now for his blatant rejection. Did he trust her so much that he would leave himself so defenseless in the presence of a woman scorned?

A smirk twisted her face. He certainly hadn't _acted_ like the noble, self-righteous Demacian he was on the battlefield, but he did have such a high standard of honor that it aggravated her, and this same honor was likely the driving force behind his decision to run. "Idiot," she muttered quietly as she stood and sheathed her daggers; she was even beginning to understand how he thought. The sooner she figured out the reason behind her father's disappearance, the sooner she could rid herself of this man who made her feel so weak.

There would be no more mistakes, she vowed silently. Katarina DuCouteau did not make the same mistake twice.


	4. Breaking the Silence

_Hullo all! I bring you a not-so-ridiculously long chapter! Yay! Hopefully conversations will be easier to follow in this chapter than in the last! I'm pleased at all the support I have been receiving for The Only Truth and I want to apologize in advance if chapters start coming a little slower after this one. So far I've been ahead with writing but now I'm all caught up so it might take a few extra days to get them done. But fear not! I will not abandon this story because it's one of the few things which brings me joy in my crummy life in grad school =_= So take your time and enjoy chapter 4, Breaking the Silence! __DEMACIAAAAAAAAAAAA!_

_Breaking the Silence_

* * *

Painfully awkward was the only way Garen could describe the morning. By the time he woke Katarina was already packing, and judging by the dark circles under her eyes, he wondered if she even slept at all, although he imagined he didn't look much better. Any attempts to speak about the night before were me with a withering glare from the red-head which only heightened the guilt he felt about the whole ordeal.

With a heavy sign, Garen decided the only thing he could do was be respectful of her wish for silence. As the pair departed once again for their destination, he couldn't help but mention one thing to the angry assassin.

"Katarina..."

"What?!" she snapped, almost discouraging him from speaking altogether, but he swallowed and braced himself.

"...There's a twig in your hair."

* * *

Aside from the bare essentials, the next two days to Noxus were spent in almost absolute silence. Despite how often Garen complained about her scathing sarcasm he realized he greatly preferred it to her quietly burning anger. At least he knew where he stood when they exchanged blows, verbal and physical; the way it was now he felt uneasily that she might kill him in his sleep.

Halfway through their fourth day the duo reached Noxus and Katarina lead them to a tree-lined area near the wall which provided them sufficient coverage. "You're gonna have to take off anything that looks too Demacian," Katarina warned, tossing him a black cloak from inside her pack. "Especially that over-sized scarf-cape."

Garen frowned but complied, carefully unbuckling his armor and setting the pieces inside his own pack. The blue cloth which draped down his back was much harder to part with; it was a symbol of his status in the Dauntless Vanguard. However, with Katarina watching and waiting, the stoic commander removed it also, carefully folding it and resting it within on his pauldrons.

He felt incredibly naked without the heavy armor and quickly donned the hooded black cloak which she had given him, although it did little to ease his discomfort. "How do I look?" Garen asked gruffly, putting on his best intimidating frown. Ridiculous, he assumed; the cloak was too small and stretched tightly across his shoulders and chest, while the sleeves stopped inches above his wrists and the hood only barely covered his eyes.

Katarina inspected him thoroughly, the twitch of a smile tugging at the corner of her lips. "You look OK. Just keep the frown and no one will think twice about your clothes."

The commander's heart beat erratically in his chest; she had almost smiled. Empowered by the idea that her mood could be lifting, he boldly asked, "Katarina, do you think it's possible I could die in there?"

She smirked, not seeing where his question was leading. "It's possible, yeah. Especially if you don't kick the self-righteous tone of voice."

He nodded and continued in a rushed voice, knees trembling, "Then, in case I die, I want to apologize for my behavior the other night!" To his surprise, she did not cut him off, but simply folded her arms and looked past him.

"I just thought...you...should have better," Garen finished quietly, preoccupying himself with his pack so she wouldn't see his flushed face.

"...Whatever." Her tone sounded uncaring but when he glanced at her from the corner of his eye he could see the blood rising to her cheeks. With his face still flushed but his mood drastically improved, Garen turned his gaze to the city of Noxus and stated, "Let's get this over with."

* * *

Noxus, he discovered, was frightening, and he was perplexed at Katarina's loyalty to the dark city. With the High Command looming over the inner city's depths and the granite walls that enclosed it, the city made Garen feel as though he were being suffocated and he longed for the open white spires of Demacia.

Keeping a steely face in spite of his nerves, the Demacian followed closely behind Katarina who lead them through the twisting streets with ease, never pausing for anything. The daylight was fading and the sparse lighting on the streets seemed to be sucked into the stone. He suppressed a chill, suddenly grateful he had never had reason to come here, especially without a guide like Katarina.

Although the differences between the cities were clear, there was one thing which was constant: there was always a slum adjacent to a wealthy area. He felt sickened at the state of the city as they picked their way around filthy children and homeless elderly but, when he thought about it honestly, even Demacia had its share of slums and crime. At least Demacia was cleaner and better lit.

It seemed to stretch for miles but they finally approached the junction between the slum and the Ivory Ward, an iron fence and gate separating the two districts. It looked newly built and Katarina indicated that it had been destroyed in the riots, and, of course, was the first thing rebuilt. In front of the entrance stood two burly men, and Katarina motioned for Garen to follow close and stay quiet.

"Well, well! If it ain't Miss DuCouteau!" exclaimed the man closest to them, giving her a mocking salute.

The assassin scowled and reached for her knives in a threatening manner. "Fuck you, just open the gate."

"Who's your friend?" piped up the second guard from his seat on the ground, eyebrows waggling suggestively.

"None of your god-damned business that's who," the woman replied hotly. "Open the fucking gate." Garen was amazed at how foul her language became when angered and impressed that she hadn't killed either of the two men yet.

"C'mon, who's under the hood?" questioned the man who spoke first, moving toward the Demacian and pushing lightly against Katarina's shoulder as he passed. In a flash, Garen grabbed the man's arm, twisting it near breaking, while Katarina pressed a dagger into his neck just hard enough to draw blood.

"I think you should stop asking questions and open the gate," Garen muttered into the man's pained face, before loosening his hold and allowing the man to run to the gatehouse. The commander flashed a smirk to Katarina but found her staring straight ahead, her lips still pressed into an angry line.

The two men glared at the pair as they passed under the gate, which shut behind them with a clang.

When they were out of sight of the gate, Garen tentatively broke the silence. "Katarina...you OK?"

For a minute she said nothing and he was certain she was simply going to ignore him again when she finally choked out, "Nobody acted like that when my father was still around. The DuCouteau name was exalted..." She paused mid-stride, fists clenched tightly by her side and turned her face toward his, guilt and fear blazing in her eyes.

"I'm afraid...afraid I have failed my family," she confessed in a whisper.

Without hesitation Garen gripped her shoulders firmly and gave her a small shake. "Stop it, Katarina," he murmured fiercely. "You can't think like that now, not when we're so close to finding out what happened to your father!" In truth, he was alarmed at her confession. Katarina never appeared as anything but solid; her loss of composure made him feel deeply unsettled, while a small part was elated that he was witnessing such a raw moment.

The sincerity in his face made her nod slowly before shrugging his hands off her shoulders and straightening sharply. "You're right," her voice much more firm. "C'mon, we've delayed too long. I want to meet with my sister at our family house before we go to the address in the letter."

He blinked numbly at her retreating form. Sister?

* * *

"Katarina!" Cassiopeia shrieked, grasping her sister in a tight hug. "I missed you!" Garen stood at a distance, taking in the sight before him in a mild shock; any expectations about her sister were destroyed the minute she had slithered down the stairs.

Cassiopeia's sharp eyes flickered to him and she extended her sister to arm's length, a seductive smile sweeping across her face. "Oh, Kat, you didn't say he was _that_ handsome!"

A familiar burn on the Demacian's face accompanied his downward stare, which was interrupted as the snake-woman slid over to him to look into his face. He staggered backwards, sending a pleading look to the smirking Katarina, who laughed, "Leave him alone, Cass. He's too noble for your..._tricks._"

Cassiopeia's mouth turned into a pout not unlike the one he had seen Katarina wear during political negotiations. "That's right he's a...Demacian." The last word came out with a sort of hiss that made the commander wince.

"He's not so bad," Katarina stated with a shrug, causing her sister to raise a brow.

"Coming from you, that says a lot," Cassiopeia said darkly, eyes narrowed at Katarina in suspicion.

"Shut up. I just came by to say hello," the red-head replied evenly. "We're checking out the address in father's note and leaving the city."

Fear passed across Cassiopeia's face and she did not bother trying to hide it. "You can't go, Kat, please! What if...I'll be alone!" She couldn't stop the same words her father had reprimanded her for from tumbling from her lips.

Katarina flashed her a determined look. "Nothing will happen. I'm gonna get to the bottom of this and find out what happened to father; our family will be respected again."

Her sister tried to smile although it came out as a grimace. "Just be careful. And you," she called, spinning around to point a clawed finger at Garen. "If anything happens to her I will not hesitate to kill you!" With those parting words, she slid into an adjacent room, slamming the door, and crying silently after Garen and Katarina departed.

* * *

"Your sister, she seems nice," Garen said politely as the front door of the DuCouteau home shut behind him. He felt strangely privileged that he had seen the mask slip on both DuCouteau women in a single hour.

Katarina sighed, "She's alright. She wants to know what happened just as much as I do; I'm doing this for her as much as myself."

The Demacian nodded his understanding. "Then let's get to this place and look around. We're bound to find something good."

Night was well under way as the pair reached the address on the letter, and they surveyed the building from their position across the street where they crouched behind the corner of a neighboring building. It was a multi-story structure nestled deep within the Ivory Ward Marketplace, and looked as though it had been untouched by the upset, while most other structures still showed evidence of construction.

"Hey, there's no one guarding it!" Garen whispered excitedly. "Let's go!" He started to rise but Katarina swiftly grabbed his sleeve and yanked him back into a crouch.

"It's not unguarded. Look there," she hissed, pointing into the dark; Garen squinted but still saw nothing.

The assassin sighed in exasperation. "OK, there are two guys in the corner there, but they don't look like they're very observant. We can kill them easy and you can hide the bodies in that alley."

"I'm not going to be an accomplice to cold-blooded murder," an annoyed Garen replied. "Can't we just knock them out or something?"

"I would think you'd be used to murdering Noxians by now," Katarina taunted.

The commander bristled at her sarcasm. "It's not murder when it's in war!"

With a shake of her head, Katarina muttered, "You keep telling yourself that," and stepped silently toward the house, leaving the Demacian fuming in the shadows.

Several minutes passed and the assassin had yet to return, so Garen grudgingly stretched from his position and, as stealthily as his bulk would allow, followed her path to the house. He found her struggling to drag one of the men's cooling bodies from its slumped position against the wall of the building to a nearby alley.

"You can help anytime you like," she huffed as he stood watching in amusement.

With a heavy sigh, Garen obliged, easily hefting the man onto his shoulder and following the blood trail from the other body Katarina had managed to drag behind a stack of crates in the back-street. He set him carefully next to his comrade and mentally apologized to the two before returning to Katarina, who was pressed against the door trying to pick the lock.

"You owe me for making me do something so dishonorable," he half-joked.

"I didn't make you do jack-shit you liar," she retorted instantly. Her face was tensed in concentration as she wriggled her lock-picking tools, until she finally heard a satisfying click. She added, "But I guess you can add breaking and entering to the list of things I'm _'making' _you do." Garen resisted the urge to roll his eyes and instead motioned that he would enter first.

The door eased open silently, granting them access to a very minimalistic reception room; a secretary's desk sat in front of the door and behind that a large, curving stairway leading to the second floor. There were only two doors on the first floor, each the exact onyx replica of the other save for the large white numbers on the front.

"What kind of business is this?" Katarina whispered although, in the dead silence and relatively empty room, it was as though she had not. She quietly glided over the pristine white marble floors and peered up the staircase.

Meanwhile, Garen looked through the documents organized neatly on the secretary's desk. Despite his efforts to move as quietly as Katarina, his muted footsteps echoed dully around the room, earning a glare from the assassin.

"Katarina," he whispered suddenly, looking up from the documents in his hands. "Was there a date on the letter from your father?"

She joined the Demacian at the desk and murmured "No, but Cassiopeia said it was December 3rd, 20 CLE when he left. Why?"

He passed her the papers so she could see for herself what had caught his interest. "It's a calendar of appointments."

Quickly she rifled through the calendar, looking back through the months until she found December, nearly a year ago. Garen could see her face freeze in a mixture of determination, anger, and excitement, creating a sort of manic expression. He put a heavy hand on her shoulder, drawing her back into the present.

A slender finger pointed to a specific date, December 3rd, where it was written in a looping feminine handwriting:

_J. Swain, 5:00p, Rm 203_

_M. DuCouteau, 5:00p, Rm 203_

"He was here...Swain...I _knew_ it!" Her voice was shaking and the distress caused her voice to crack slightly. Garen grabbed the papers from her and set them back in their original position on the desk before giving her a gentle tug on the arm.

"Let's go see what's in room 203."

Each step seemed like a mile as they slowly climbed the stairs, trying to maintain silence without sacrificing too much speed. Katarina darted past Garen, her nimble footsteps dancing over the floor and propelling her closer to uncovering the truth about her father with every step.

She waited impatiently for him at the top of the stairwell, anxiously surveying the black, numbered doors, 200, 201, 202, her eyes lighting up her face with the same crazed expression when they alighted on the innocuous, white 203. The commander hastily grabbed her arm before she could bolt down the hall.

"Breathe," he said softly, feeling less apprehensive as the frenzied look melted off her face once again. She nodded and together they approached the room, unease growing the closer they were until finally they stood in front of it, almost choking on the tension.

Tentatively, Katarina turned the doorknob and, finding that she met no resistance, slowly pushed the door open.

In contrast to the black and white minimalism of the building, the room they entered had an elegant quality. An ornate tea set sat atop an intricately carved rosewood table immediately to the left of the door, two matching chairs tucked neatly into either side. From the ceiling hung an expensive-looking chandelier which had lilac colored crystals dripping from its frame. The left wall was lined with books while the right wall boasted only an incredibly large mirror.

The mirror was centered in the wall and reached from floor to ceiling, giving the room the appearance of being larger than it actually was. Inlaid in its golden frame were hundreds of sculpted roses, each beset with a tiny crystal which reflected the moonlight streaming in from the back wall, making it appear to glow.

And in front of the back wall and window sat a rosewood desk with a tall, onyx safe beside it.

"I'm opening that safe," Katarina said at once, purposefully striding toward it's reflective surface. "Garen, you look through the desk and see if you can find out whose office this is."

Orders accepted, Garen began rifling through the papers on the desk; each bore a black rose stamp at the bottom, but no name. He glanced at Katarina as she stubbornly maneuvered her pick and wrench in the safe's keyhole, her ear pressed against the side and unconsciously biting her lip, and he let out a shaky sigh as he considered how sensuous she looked when performing forbidden activities.

No! There's nothing attractive about illegal activity, he tried to convince himself. Refocusing on the task at hand, he set aside the papers and picked up a small leather-bound journal, flipping it open to the middle.

_-they will never know the truth. Everything has gone according to plan and soon Garvin will initiate the mine collapse under "orders" from Jarvan IV of Demacia. Fools. As expected, they are too proud to admit there is nothing of worth in their mines and will pay the price with their lives. This is the first step in bringing Noxus and Demacia against one another in war and keeping Jericho distracted with plans to rule Noxus. Despite being my greatest pawn, he is growing in power and I fear I may need to take measures to keep him from acting outside my plans. _

"...No name," he muttered to himself.

"Got it!" Katarina whispered fiercely, pulling open the safe door. There were several shelves inside, but they were all empty. She reached her gloved hand into each shelf, feeling around for anything that was worthwhile, but growling in frustration when she pulled back empty handed.

"Look at the bottom," Garen said, crouching beside her and pulling out a long, thin box which had been thrust into the back corner of the safe. Katarina knelt and opened it, revealing a knife, a piece of paper, and a ring.

With trembling hands Katarina reverently lifted the blade to survey it in the moonlight, and disclosed in a strangled voice, "This was...my father's. He always kept it on him..."

Garen gazed sympathetically at the assassin as she struggled with the implications of her father's most trusted blade resting unused for so many months at the bottom of a safe. Abruptly she dropped the blade back into the box and covered her scarred face in her hands.

"I c-can't do this, Garen. My father...my father is..."

Cautiously, the commander put an arm around her shoulder and was surprised when she did not pull away from his grip. He said nothing, feeling as though anything he could possibly say in this moment would only sound trite.

The pair sat still for several minutes, until finally Garen spoke. "What about this paper? Is this your father's handwriting?"

Katarina rubbed her face aggressively before picking up the folded paper. "Yes, but..." she trailed off with a frown, reading the note, "it doesn't make any sense. It's just letters and numbers."

Garen leaned in to read the paper but could not decipher the meaning behind it either. Despite the seriousness of the situation, he was quickly distracted by the proximity of her face to his. He shook his head to clear his thoughts but stated, "Yeah I don't understand it either."

After a heavy sigh, Katarina quietly repacked the box and stood with it tucked under her arm, shutting the safe quietly. "Did you find out whose place this is and why they had my father's things?" she questioned, a hard edge back in her voice.

Holding up the journal, Garen replied, "Sort of. I only read one bit but they mentioned Swain and the mine collapse. It seems like maybe they're in charge of this whole ordeal, but there's no name."

Katarina nodded and jerked her head toward the door. "Bring it and let's get out of here. I'm starting to feel uneasy."

Garen followed the assassin through the door, glancing back at the mirror as he shut the door behind him and suppressed a shiver. Since Katarina had mentioned it, he _did_ feel deeply unsettled, like the animal part of his brain was crying for him to run as if from a predator although he knew there was nothing to fear in an empty building.

Together they descended the stairs and opened the front door into the cold winter night.

* * *

Fools, she thought dispassionately, brushing her dark shoulder-length hair from her pale face. Did they truly believe they could simply walk into her office and take her things without her permission? They only saw what she wanted them to see. She watched the pair exit her building from the top of the staircase, a terrible smile spreading slowly across her youthful face.

Marcus, your daughter is not nearly as clever as you, she grinned wickedly, but she has far better timing.

Yes, everything was proceeding as planned.

* * *

_A/N: Who is Garvin? Journal of Justice Issue 18_

_ Edit: In the original I made some mistakes in the dates of the lore. Originally I had written Oct. 21 CLE when I meant 20 CLE. THEN I found that Marcus goes missing the first week of December -_- That was bad research on my part and I apologize! _


	5. A Slight Miscalculation

_Hi, everyone! Chapter five in all its mushy glory. I wanted to address something right now: This particular story will not have an explicit lemon as I am focusing primarily on character development and relationship building and the overall plot. However, I am a fan of smut. While this story will likely end up having implied citrus-y goodness, I don't want to raise the rating from T. So! What I will do if/when I get to that point is post a one-shot. It would be there to read if you wanted and have nothing to do with the plot here. *shrug* So yeah there's that. Anywaaaaay. On with the show!_

* * *

_A Slight Miscalculation _

They slept little on the trip back to Demacia in order to hasten the journey and arrived at the gates a little over a day sooner. Garen was pleased Katarina had decided to go back to the city with him, although he suffered the brunt of her sleeplessness and stress: gone was the sarcastic banter and playful glares, replaced by weary, half-hearted insults and a distracted gaze.

She just lost her father, Garen constantly reminded himself, although it did little to assuage his worry. His own father died several years ago but their bond was virtually non-existent. Marcus Crownguard provided for his family and Garen had no doubts that he loved Lilia and his children, but he was always emotionally out of reach from his children, too much control and disengagement, too little nurturing.

Strange that, despite how evil the Noxians were rumored to be, Katarina's own relationships with her sister and late father made Garen ache with longing and jealousy. He committed to seeing Lux within the next few days, no excuses.

As they reached the city walls, Katarina donned a cloak like the one she had given Garen and pulled it low over her face, hiding her scar, eyes and hair. The Demacian led them through the less populous streets to the castle where they entered through the barracks rather than the front; no one would suspect the Vanguard commander in his own domain and the fear of appearing traitorous would keep anyone from questioning why he escorted such a shadowy figure.

Jarvan was waiting for them in his study, eager to hear about the results of the investigation. He swung open the door and pulled them inside after only one knock.

"So did you find anything?" he probed enthusiastically, looking back and forth between the commander and the assassin.

Katarina diverted her eyes to side, so Garen replied to the prince in a business-like tone, "Yes sir. We discovered the private office of the person who has been commanding the organization of the events in Kalamanda. We recovered their journal." In a softer voice, he added, "We also discovered a code left by Marcus DuCouteau, but we did not look into it in detail."

He handed the leather notebook to the prince, who immediately sat at his desk and began looking through it. "This might end up being extremely useful! If we can get to the bottom of this, we'll have handwritten proof of the conspiracy!"

Finally Katarina spoke, "I will work on the code left by my father. It may lead to more information about the person who is running this."

"Of course," the prince agreed. "Though if you need help please let me know. I'm sort of under house arrest after the thing with Swain."

Garen knew the prince had no idea what had transpired in Noxus but all the same he wanted to leap over the desk and punch his friend in the face for mentioning Swain. At the sound of his name, Katarina had gone rigid, her hands tightening into fists and Garen knew her temper would be rising past containment soon. He couldn't believe how much he wanted her to just feel OK again.

"Sir, are we dismissed? We could really use some sleep."

The prince didn't even look up from the notebook and simply waved his hand and stated, "Yes, dismissed."

Garen, afraid she might bolt the second they left the room, seized Katarina's arm and walked with her into the hallway before nonchalantly asking, "Would you like to spar with me?"

She tugged against his grip once then went slack, nodding her assent.

The commander took her to the training grounds used by the soldiers, clearing out the area for "official Vanguard training," and motioning her to follow him.

"What's the meaning of this," she asked through clenched teeth, drawing her daggers from her sides.

"I'm still feeling restless and wanted to let off some steam," he lied with a shrug.

To his relief, she smirked and, before he could blink, quick-stepped to his side, swinging. "Good," she challenged as their blades crashed repetitively against each other, "because for a second I thought this was some kind of trick to make me feel better."

Garen pressed forward against the onslaught, blocking her strikes but finding little room to make a move. "Pft, don't be ridiculous. Why would I do that?"

The assassin flashed backwards only to spin toward him in a flurry of knives, some of which he blocked, most bouncing harmlessly off his armor, a couple leaving cuts on his face and legs.

"Cause I fight worse when I'm not emotional? Gives you an advantage," she offered, pausing to let him wipe the blood from his forehead.

He grinned, rushing her with heavy overhead strike. "Please, like I need the advantage," he scoffed. "My reasons are simpler than that!"

Katarina danced around his sword, poking lightly at his unarmored legs. "And what reasons might those be, Demacian?"

"Maybe I just like it better when you smile and call me an idiot," he suggested boldly. A line of blood appeared against her stomach as he pulled his blade back against her retreat.

"You're such a liar," she laughed, flashing behind him and kicking him in the back of the knee. She extended her dagger against the back of his neck as he knelt in the dirt.

"Do you feel better by any chance?" he questioned as he stared at the ground, waiting for her to pull her blade away.

The sound of her dagger sliding back into its sheath prompted him to jump up and follow after her as she walked around the training grounds picking up her knives. Her hood was back over her face but he could see her devilish grin as she replied, "Idiot."

* * *

Katarina did not linger in Demacia any longer than she had to, and after a night at an inn located in a less reputable part of the capital city, Garen, dressed in civilian clothes, met her at the lodge in the early morning.

"You didn't have to meet me here," she huffed. "I'm quite capable of getting out of this city on my own."

He made an indignant noise in reply and quietly walked beside her down the empty street. There was no way the Demacian would admit that he simply wanted to see her, but it was exactly that reason which drove him to waking early to escort her to the gate. Finally he asked, "Where will you go from here?"

"To the League of Legends. I've neglected my duties as a Champion. But back home after that so I can figure out what this code is for."

"I see," he murmured. "Will you...keep in contact? About the code?"

He saw the corners of her mouth turn up in amusement. "Just about the code?" she teased, causing him to look away, embarrassed. "I will try. I know it'll lead to something important when I figure it out!"

He nodded in agreement, a warm smile on his face. "Well until then, perhaps I will see you on the Fields of Justice. I would like to get you back for earlier."

The assassin scoffed. "You wish."

The pair walked the rest of the way in a comfortable silence. Garen knew he shouldn't care at all, but he could not help but feel disappointed at her departure. It could be months before he would see her again, or if did see her in a League match, he could be forced to kill her repeatedly. The thought caused him to let out a low chuckle; who was he kidding? She would probably destroy him in lane before he could leave the safety range of the turret.

"What're you laughing at?" Katarina inquired suspiciously.

"Just thinking how you'd probably love to kill me over and over in the Fields of Justice," he said with a grin, soaking in the sound of her laugh. He had to admit, she was much softer when away from her home, war, and responsibilities. Maybe in a different life...

"I hate the Fields of Justice," she stated, interrupting his thought. "Dying so many times, it's an unnatural feeling. Although, I guess it's the only time you can kill without being seen as a total monster."

And just when he thought she sounded softer.

"It's good practice," he conceded, "but I don't think you're a monster."

The assassin threw him an incredulous look. "After all the Demacian's I've killed? Your comrades, wouldn't they be upset to know you don't revile their killer?"

Garen said nothing for several minutes in which time they reached the gate. Katarina turned expectantly to the commander to find that his gaze was directed toward to skyline, face twisted into an expression somewhere between guilt and confusion.

"At one point I would have hated you for the things you've done. But now I feel that...saying that would mean admitting to the horrible things I've done too." He shrugged nonchalantly although his chest felt heavy. "I guess I'm not a shining example of anything."

She considered his words momentarily, then smirked, "You're too serious. Live a little!" With a small wave, Katarina began her trek to the League of Legends, leaving Garen waving at the gate with a smile on his face.

* * *

After Katarina's departure, Garen returned to his home and penned a letter to his sister Luxanna, who, his mother informed him, was currently leading a special training for the College of Magic. He had hoped she would have been home when he arrived the day before, but as Lilia liked to remind him, his prodigious sister was often sought to do extra duties for Demacia because of her magical abilities.

Although he wanted nothing more than to inform his mother of his own secret duties for the city-state to get her off his case, he simply did his best to ignore her.

Several days passed with no word from Luxanna and Garen dejectedly assumed she did not in fact want to see him, when she showed up unexpectedly one night as he was returning from overseeing a job at the dock.

"Garen!" she exclaimed from the door with an enthusiastic wave as he walked up the street.

A wide grin spread across his face as he ran the rest of the way home and picked her up in a warm hug. "I didn't think you were gonna come! You never replied to my letter!" he half-scolded.

The blonde laughed and snaked her arm into his, pulling him into the house. "I can't believe you thought I _wouldn't_ come! It's been too long since we spent any time together." The last statement had an air of sadness in it, but she cheerily added, "Go change and let's make dinner together!"

Garen obliged, cleaning up and changing into his most comfortable pair of pants and joining his sister in the kitchen where she was gathering items for a soup.

"So what have you been up to?" he asked as he helped her pull a pot from the top shelf.

Lux pulled a face while she picked ingredients from the icebox. "Well, just stuff for the College of Magic lately. Trainings on using light magic effectively and stuff like that. No spy stuff recently."

"Sounds like you don't really like it," he suggested tentatively as he began to chop the various vegetables she handed to him.

"I mean, it's for the betterment of Demacia, so..." She looked guilty as she said it though, as if she knew she wasn't convincing anyone.

"So it sucks," Garen laughed.

Lux looked at him in surprise, then giggled, which quickly turned into a contagious laugh. "Who are you and what have you done with my brother?" she inquired in mock seriousness. "The real Garen would never say anything remotely bad about Demacia!"

"Hey! People change!" The commander defended, lobbing part of a carrot at her.

She started to laugh again as she uselessly blocked against the vegetable, but this time her eyes welled with tears.

"I thought they had taken everything away from me." Her words came out strangled but with a notably happier tone.

Garen paused in the midst of stirring the pot of broth that was heating on the stove top to consider her puzzling words. "What do you mean?"

Lux rubbed her eyes and a bitter expression took the place of her usual smile. "I hate it, Garen. I never wanted to leave home and I never wanted to join the military..." she lifted her chin defiantly. "They took you away and when you came back and you were different, like you were just an empty _thing _that only cared about orders. And i thought, that would never be me...But I ended up the same. They take things and break them..."

In silence, Garen dropped the rest of the ingredients into the pot, avoiding eye contact with his sister who stared intensely at him as she leaned against the counter. Finally he said, "I didn't know, Lux. I'm sorry." He felt her gaze shift away from him and when he looked up, she was smiling again, looking thoughtfully at the wall.

"You're different now, though. You're less uptight." Eyes sparkling mischievously, she asked, "Did you get a girlfriend or something?"

"Did I- what does that have to do with anything you were just talking about?!" he sputtered, almost dropping the pot of soup as he pulled it from the heat.

"Because you changed! Everyone knows _looooove _makes people act differently!" The woman bounced on her toes expectantly, a habit from when she was still a child.

The image of Katarina's limbs entwined with his own flashed through his mind and with an exasperated sigh he replied, "No, Lux, I don't have a girlfriend. Can't I just change on my own?"

His sister wrinkled her nose at his question and set two bowls on the counter in front of her. "Hmmm, I guess, but it doesn't seem likely to me!" A knowing smile spread across her face. "So she's not your girlfriend but there's someone you like and she's made you change!"

Garen narrowed his eyes warily at his sister as he swallowed a spoonful of soup. Was his sister some kind of mind reader too? God I need to find out how magic works, he cursed solemnly.

But mind reading or not, he was going to take a chance; Lux had trusted him enough to tell him something personal, and he should trust her the same.

"There is someone that is...interesting to me," he said, looking into his soup. Luxanna let out a childish squeal which made him wince. Just when he thought she was growing up...

"I knew it!" she exclaimed smugly. "It's about time you took interest in something that doesn't have to do with swords! You're like, almost thirty!"

He ignored the jab at his age and smirked, stuck on the first part of her sentence. Well, she was wrong about that one.

But Luxanna was sharper than he gave her credit for and she noticed his grin for what it was right away. "Oh, so is she a fighter too? What's she like? Is she in the Vanguard? Are you two in love?"

He almost choked on his soup.

"Seriously? Love? That's the most ridiculous...No! We aren't even together! And we never will be!" In a more even tone the commander added, "She is a fighter but not in the Vanguard and that's why it will never happen! There's no time for silly things like that in battle!" He shook his head to rid himself of thoughts of the assassin covered in blood and bruises, her tiny hands clasped in his.

His sister frowned and chided, "It's not silly! Look how different you are! She made you all...three-dimensional! The way you were before, I would never have told you what I told you before!"

"Just drop it Lux," he pleaded. "Nothing is going to come of it."

"But why _nooot?_" the blonde insisted.

Garen couldn't stop the words, no matter how bad he wanted to. "She's an assassin," he hissed, "from _Noxus_." Luxanna's mouth formed a silent 'O' and her spoon stopped halfway to her mouth but he plunged ahead despite her shock. "We are working together with Jarvan and when it's finished I will never have a reason to see her again. Does _that_ tell you why?"

His hands trembled and he mentally swore at himself for being so stupid. Cold fear twisted his stomach and he paled; what if she told someone? "Lux..." He would beg if he had to.

"I-it's ok!" she blurted, "I won't tell!" Blood rushed back into his face and he laid his head on the counter, letting relief wash over him. "She must be something special," she joked weakly.

"I'm the disgrace of Demacia," he moaned.

Lux reached over and patted him on the head. "Don't be a baby it's not that bad! It's not like...anything's happened. Right?" He said nothing and stayed face down on the counter, but the flush that spread to his ears told her enough. "Oh my god," she laughed. "Seriously?"

"It's nothing like what you're thinking," came his mumbled reply.

Running a hand through her hair, Lux sighed, "You've got it bad, brother."

"Really? I hadn't noticed," he muttered sarcastically.

"Look, obviously no one has figured it out so you'll be fine! Just play it cool." Inwardly, Luxanna was laughing at the irony; Garen had the hots for a Noxian. What a twist." Maybe one day Demacia and Noxus will be friends," she suggested.

He almost laughed at the ludicrous suggestion, but he felt significantly better nonetheless. She hadn't judged him harshly and for that he was grateful. "Thanks Lux," he murmured, offering her a small but sincere smile.

A bright grin spread across her face in return. "That's what family is for, right?"

* * *

Despite the uplifting few days he spent with Lux, after she was summoned to return to the League, Garen felt his days slowly bleeding together into a long stream of monotony. With Jarvan and Katarina working separately and alone on each of their respective ventures, the commander was largely left out to take care of his standard duties. Occasionally Jarvan would update him on his theories, but those instances only came every few weeks. Even Katarina had not been in contact and, after weeks became months, Garen began to wonder if she was done working with them. Her absence didn't stop him from thinking about frequently.

Four months passed since he had seen Katarina, and the month of April was already underway when Garen awoke in the middle of the night with a jump at the sight of the assassin slumped in a chair near his bed in his family home.

"What the-shit!"

Katarina jolted awake at the sound of his massive frame hitting the floor as he tried to untangle himself from his sheet and reach for his combat knife at the same time.

"What the hell are you doing here?!" he hissed from the floor, staring up at her tired face as she leaned over in the chair. "How did you even find my house?!"

She grinned and slouched back into the plush chair, "It's what I do."

"What are you doing Garen!" Lilia's footsteps padded down the hallway toward his room and he shot a panicked look to the door. Katarina flashed to her knees and slid under the bed with a quiet thump, scratching the floor with her spiked leg guards.

"J-just fell out of bed!" he called lamely, praying she would just go away; luck was not on his side and Lilia swung open the door to see her son face down on the floor, legs tangled in sheets.

"Aren't you a little old for that?" she chastised, making no move to help him.

A lack of coordination plagued him as he, with great difficulty, finally kicked away his sheet and stumbled back to sit on his bed. When the bed responded with a huff and he slid his sheet closer to the bed with his foot. "Hah, you're right mother, you should just go back to bed now!" Please...

Lilia took a few steps forward, looking suspiciously at the sheet and, to his horror, a look of comprehension alighted on her face.

He was shock she said in a dissatisfied voice, "Oh...of course Garen. Don't let me interrupt anything." and left his room, shutting the door behind her.

"I don't even want to know what she thinks was going on," he muttered, head in his hands.

A second later his head snapped up, as if he had forgotten why he'd fallen out of bed in the first place. Katarina snickered and pulled herself from under the bed, swaggering back to the chair suggesting, "Maybe she thought you were tossin' one off and got too into it?"

"Tossin-Oh, god! What...What are you even doing here...!" he gestured lamely; the draining adrenaline combined with the sudden awakening hampered his ability to form coherent thoughts.

Katarina propped her head against her hand, eyeing Garen with satisfaction, over what he had no idea. She looked completely drained: dark circles lined her green eyes and her skin was pale in the moonlight floating in through the window, causing the gouged skin of her scar to look more vivid than usual. Nevertheless, she offered him a sleepy smirk. She had no clue, he concluded in a state of mental anguish, how sensual that smile looked. He was uncomfortably aware of his attire, a pair of short trousers, and promptly crossed his arms over his lap.

Either she didn't notice or didn't care, because she made no sarcastic comments, instead simply stating, "We figured out the code."

"And you opted to sneak into my room instead of writing a letter because...?" He couldn't help but sound cranky; how long had she been there and why didn't she just wake him up?

With eyes closed, she shrugged, "The information led here so I thought I'd just come by. Haven't slept in days, and your chair looked comfy..." she trailed off, head drooping forward. "You're pretty trustworthy."

Despite his irritation, Garen softened at her obvious exhaustion. "Shit..." he sighed helplessly. "Just...stay here tonight, we can tackle it in the morning."

Katarina nodded, though he couldn't tell if it was an assent or just trying to stay awake. He wrapped himself in his sheet and walked over to where she was sprawled in the chair. "You can have the bed."

The woman grinned and stumbled to his bed, flopping face first into his pillow without bothering to remove her boots or knives. "Thanks, Garen," she murmured before drifting quickly into oblivion.

The Demacian willed his knees to stop feeling so shaky and wearily sank into his chair. Tomorrow, he could tell, was going to be a long day.

But nevertheless, Garen settled into the cushions, smiling, and fell into a comfortable sleep; the problems of the morning could wait.


	6. Where the Dust Settles

_Hi everypony! Sorry this chapter was so much slower in coming out than the last! October=school getting busier, as I'm sure many can relate. Thanks again to everyone's encouragement! Seriously, y'all have no idea how happy it makes me to get emails saying I have a new review! When I read them on my phone at school, I can't help but grin like a freaking idiot! Thank you so much :) On to chapter six!_

_Where the Dust Settles_

* * *

"Hey, get up."

A soft kick in the shin startled Garen into wakefulness and he opened a bleary eye to see Katarina standing over him. Creases from the pillow and sheets had left pink marks crisscrossing her face and stomach, a sight which elicited a grin from the Demacian.

Her eyes narrowed as if she knew the reason for his smile. "Don't start. You were drooling." Sheepishly, he rubbed his chin and looked around. Light was already streaming through the window and he was surprised it hadn't woken him earlier.

"It's pretty late," she muttered. "Put on some clothes so we can get going."

He stood and as the sheet fell from his upright form, he noticed Katarina attempt a sneaky second-glance. Maybe it was simply wishful thinking but as he pulled on his undershirt, he could almost swear he felt the weight of her eyes on his back; his ego swelled and the commander stretched and finished dressing with an extra spring in his step.

Even hurrying it took Garen the better part of twenty minutes to put on the full Vanguard regalia, in which time Katarina, realizing how long it was going to take, was dozing again by the time he was completely ready. Awkwardly, he shook her leg, saying in a low voice, "I'm ready when you are."

"Finally," the assassin yawned as she sat up, moving to the window as if she intended to climb out.

Before she could, Garen grabbed her arm and pulled her to the door instead. "I think at this point in the day it would be more discreet to leave out the front door," he grinned. "Did you bring a cloak?" She shook her head in the negative.

"Wait a second. I've got an idea," The Demacian stated as he crossed the room to the closet and rummaged through, finally finding a hooded jacket he wore when in civilian clothes which he tossed to her. "Just put this on and it'll be fine."

She complied and his resolve nearly crumbled at the sight of her wearing his jacket which swallowed her tiny frame. A light blush covered his cheeks as he tore his eyes away, stating shakily, "Let's go."

With the hood covering her face, he opened the door and motioned her to follow closely behind him. Lilia was sure to be gone to her job in the Demacian legislature by this point in the morning, but there was no harm in being careful; if his mother appeared he could probably push Katarina into one of the many rooms in the manor.

Despite his luck during the night, she was indeed gone and, in fact, a note on the door addressed to him indicated that she would be gone to Freljord for the next two weeks and could he kindly not bring prostitutes into the house and ruin their family name while she was gone? His temper flared and he ripped the note in half, tossing it on the floor; apparently of all the ideas she had gathered, she'd gone with the most ridiculous.

He pushed Katarina out the door before she could pick up the note and read it herself and the pair slipped into the back streets.

"So, where are we going anyway?" Garen asked briskly. "Tell me about the code."

"Right, just head for the castle. I'll be honest, Talon figured most of it out. The paper we found in the Ivory Ward was a rubric for decoding something, right? So I figured what we would be decoding was the letter Father left with Cassiopeia since that was the only thing he left us."

Her mouth turned in a frown and she continued, "But between League matches and my duties as a representative it was hard to even find the time. I didn't ask Talon for help until just a month ago, but it turns out he's pretty clever with puzzles.

"It was incredibly complex; Talon said it was encoded twice, and combination of switched words and numbers and I don't even know what else. Whatever, he figured it out." Reaching under the borrowed jacket into her pocket, she pulled out a folded paper and handed it to him. In what Garen assumed was Talon's handwriting, masculine and nearly illegible, was written:

_Since the disappearance of the Demacian cargo ship the DSS Excursion I have tracked the seemingly unrelated trends which have followed. I have hidden the bulk of my findings in a secret location within the Demacian prison. The information should be enough to elicit co-operation between Demacia and Noxus to take down the real threat. _

_-MdC_

"A secret room in the Demacian prison?" Garen questioned incredulously. "I've never heard of or seen any secrets in the prison."

She took back the paper with a sigh and stuffed it in the jacket pocket. "I thought so. Maybe Jarvan will know and we could look around and see if we find anything."

Garen contemplated the message in silence as they continued walking toward the castle. He had been in the prison numerous times; it was often part of his job as the commander of the guard. But he couldn't recall ever seeing anything that was out of the ordinary, although he supposed he had never explored it thoroughly. What exactly would they be looking for?

Once again the commander led them through the barracks, pausing once to ask about Jarvan's whereabouts and ignoring all questioning glances directed at the hooded female figure behind him. The prince, he learned, was in a meeting with his father and Garen was presented with a dilemma: should he announce the development in their investigation to both or be guarded? Jarvan, he realized, had not told him whether or not he had kept the King informed.

Opting for discretion, he wrote a note to be delivered to Jarvan that simply stated, "_Progress made. We will wait in the study." _ Let him tell the King what he wanted.

The pair only waited for a moment outside the conference room in which the Demacian royals were meeting before the messenger returned from inside, handing Garen the key to Jarvan's private study. In silence, they paced down the many halls of the castle until they were behind the heavy door of the study, where Katarina locked the door and threw back her hood with a huff.

"I hate coming here, it's nerve-wracking. Good thing no one questions why you're walking around some random hooded figure." She smirked, "Demacians, you're all brainwashed."

Lux's words came to mind. "Not all of us. I'm three-dimensional," he muttered defensively, crossing his arms.

"I don't see you denying the brainwashing," Katarina jabbed.

"Noxus is no better!" he exclaimed. "Demacians may be unapologetically indoctrinated to follow the King and the Measured Tread, but at least they can live their lives in safety. Noxus claims to have laws but it's really just ordered chaos; people kill each other and nobody thinks twice." The commander raised his chin defiantly. "Is that really better?"

The Noxian said nothing, appraising the commander with a deadpan face, but finally a soft grin broke her stare, completely changing the mood and sending Garen's heart racing. "You're always making me think of things differently." She took a step toward him. "What did you call that? Three dimensional?"

The Demacian responded in kind, magnetically moving closer to her. "Yeah, my sister coined it. She knew right away that you had made me..." he advanced another step, "different." His jacket obscured much of her form but he could see her shiver almost imperceptibly.

"Different? Is that so?" she breathed; only a foot of space separated them.

"Absolutely," he whispered back and bent to press his lips against hers. He wasn't sure how things had shifted from argument to arousal and briefly considered that they were intertwined somehow, but he _did _know that kissing the Noxian in the private study of the Demacian prince was probably not the wisest of decisions. However, by the time the assassin seized the cloth around his neck and pulled him deeper into the kiss, Garen decided that he didn't care; the door was locked in any case.

Katarina leaned into his chest, forcing him back a few steps until he was caught against the front of Jarvan's desk. Heart thudding in his ears, he let out a heady moan as one of her hands drifted down his torso to brush against his growing erection.

Her eyes shone playfully when he broke the kiss to grab her hand and plead, "Don't...Jarvan might..."

It was a losing battle though, and Katarina pressed forward her attack, pulling another quiet groan from him as her tongue slid against his own and her hand resumed its teasing. He gave up, reaching inside the jacket to cup the round curve of her breast in one hand and her backside with the other.

Footsteps down the hall tore them apart and Garen looked helplessly from Katarina to the tent that had formed at his crotch. Biting back a grin, the Noxian motioned for him to sit down in the chair and he gratefully sank into the furniture, rubbing his red face. The assassin stood poised near the door, taking several deep breaths while smoothing stray strands of her red hair.

Less than ten seconds had passed but Katarina had already composed her face into an expression of boredom by the time Jarvan tried the handle of the locked door, which he followed with an irritable sounding, "Let me in."

She unlocked the door and Jarvan stormed in, slamming the door behind him.

"What's got you all bent out of shape?" she smirked.

"Just...stuff," he huffed vaguely, dismissing it with a wave. Noticing Garen slightly hunched over in the chair he asked, "You alright over there?"

"Of course, sir!" the commander replied as he snapped to attention.

Jarvan raised a suspicious eyebrow at his flushed face and opened his mouth like he was going to ask why, but Katarina quickly interjected, "Talon and I decoded the letter left by my father. I think you'll find it interesting."

His suspicions turned toward the Noxian as she reached in a familiar looking jacket pocket to hand him the paper with the decoded message. "Is that your jacket, Garen?"

His pulse quickened but he answered with a straight face, "Er, yes. Yes, she needed a hood. To walk through the castle. She didn't have one when she entered the city." Nothing strange about that, right? Jarvan didn't necessarily need to know that she had spent the night in his bed prior to receiving the jacket.

The prince nodded slowly and finally turned his attention to the paper Katarina had thrust in his hands. Garen locked eyes with the assassin and grinned as she bit her lip in an attempt to contain her laughter.

"A secret room in the prison?" Jarvan puzzled aloud. "I don't think I've ever heard of anything like that. Are you sure you decoded it right?"

Katarina sighed. "Yeah, Talon checked it a hundred different ways and this is what made sense. Is there any way I can search it myself?"

The prince considered her request, rubbing his chin. "There are some people in it," he said slowly, "but I could probably work out a rotation so we can go through each cell block uninterrupted." With narrowed eyes, he added, "I'll help search."

The Noxian rolled her eyes. "Two egotistical Demacians at once. I'm _so _lucky."

"Oh, shut up. I don't want to hear it right now," Jarvan scowled.

Garen's interest was piqued; Jarvan was usually good-natured, rarely showing his irritation. Whatever was discussed with his father had really gotten under his skin.

"Should we start tomorrow, sir?" Garen asked quietly.

The Demacian prince rubbed his temples then rested his forehead against his desk. "Tomorrow would be good," came his muffled reply. "I'll get the prison cleared out. Garen, can I talk to you alone for a second? Katarina you can wait outside, it won't take long."

With a haughty smirk on her face, the assassin turned sharply, flipping the hood back over her face before stepping outside. "Yes, _sir_."

Garen turned toward his friend, who lifted his head wearily and propped it up on his hand. Before he could open his mouth, Jarvan asked, "Is there anything else I need to know about?"

His response came automatically. "No every-"

"I'm not blind, Garen," the prince interrupted hotly. "I shouldn't have to remind you, of all people, that there are some mistakes that even I can't cover up." Seeing the commander's ashen face, he added In a softer tone, "Don't do anything stupid. You're my only friend."

Garen stood blankly for what seemed like hours before he finally nodded and mumbled, "Yes sir." Jarvan was shaking his head looking disappointed as the commander turned to leave the study.

"What was that all about?" Katarina asked curiously, but he took off at a brisk walk down the hall without looking at her.

His replay was a curt, "Nothing," and he could see the assassin's mouth harden into a thin line. She did not press the issue.

They walked in a tense silence until finally on the street, when Garen inquired in a business-like tone, "Where will you be staying?"

Katarina shrugged. "Same place as last time."

"Will you require an escort?"

He could feel the withering sneer she shot him even with most of her face concealed.

"Fuck you." She did not bother saying anything else but simply walked away, leaving the Demacian with what felt like a knife in his chest.

He knew it was terrible, the tone he had used and the way he had acted, but it couldn't be helped; Jarvan's words sat heavy in his gut and he recognize the underlying truth in his words. Playing with fire was going to get him burned and, in his case, the stakes were high. He could literally lose everything he had worked so hard for throughout his life: military position, respect, even his League champion and representative status.

Ignoring the pang in his chest, Garen went back into the castle, wishing for the first time in a very long time that he did not have to see her again.

* * *

The next day, Garen, Jarvan, and Katarina met outside the barracks and it was quickly evident that none of them were anywhere close to being in a good mood. In a black cloud they quietly shuffled over to the prison.

The outer wall was located roughly one-hundred yards away from the barracks and was rectangular in shape; the main portion of the prison itself, however, resembled an 'X'. An octagonal tower rose from the center and four long corridors, each its own single-story cell block, radiated from it.

Everything was quiet and Jarvan indicated that all prisoners had been moved to one cell block so that they could search through each block and rotate the prisoners to a new block if or when they finished with the others.

"No body here has ever seen anything remotely out of the ordinary though..." Jarvan added.

"So how should we tackle this?" Garen asked crossly.

"Why don't we go through each block together so we don't miss anything?" Katarina proposed in an equally agitated tone. "Since we don't even know what to look for in the first place."

Jarvan crossed his arms and retorted, "If you don't want to help us then you can just leave."

"Oh fuck you!" she hissed. "I'm only doing this for myself anyway!"

"Maybe we should each take a separate block," Garen interrupted. "We can cover a lot of ground and avoid killing each other at the same time."

The other two grumbled their assent, refusing to look at each other. There were a total of twenty cells per block, and they agreed that in order to ensure a thorough search for anything out of the ordinary, they would search ten cells a day for eight hours, and when they finished, they would search the last block together before moving on to the tower itself.

Garen's irritation only held out for the first few hours and was replaced with an incredible mental fatigue. It was fitting that he was in a prison cell because he felt that there could be nothing more torturous than looking at nearly identical walls for eight hours in almost complete silence.

One of the worst parts of the first two days was that the first two days yielded nothing from any of the three. But the worst part, Garen decided, was having all that time to think about Katarina. He tried reminding himself repeatedly that distancing himself through any means was necessary for both of them. It was obvious he lacked the control to keep from being physical with her and there was no way either of their city-states would be understanding if their...whatever it was, came to light.

That brought up another issue for the Demacian: what exactly had they been? It didn't qualify as a relationship, he decided, since that implied things like romance and dates and ...hand holding, or something. So far, their interactions had consisted of trying to kill each other, arguments, sarcasm, and serious sexual tension. What did that even come out to equal?

By day two he had come up with a list of reasons why it _could _have been considered a relationship. Sometimes, they talked about personal things, like family and their opinions on things like weapons or food. He certainly felt relaxed around her and enjoyed her company, even when she was angry. That had to count for something right?

When the third day arrived, her continuing coolness toward him as they mapped out the sections of the last cell block that they would search, reminded him with painful clarity that it didn't matter what label he wanted to put on them because it could never happen.

The last cell block proved fruitless as well and, despite initially feeling comforted by the simple presence of other humans, Garen, Jarvan, and Katarina were all discouraged when they reconvened.

"There could still be something in the tower," Garen suggested desperately although his expression mirrored the despondence on his friends' faces.

The prince, rubbed his eyes forcefully. "I feel like I'm going to go insane."

Katarina nodded, rolling her shoulders. "I know we've only been here for a few hours today but I wouldn't mind leaving already."

"Then tomorrow?" Garen asked. "We can finish tomorrow for sure, whether we find anything or not."

Jarvan gave a non-committal grunt and Katarina waved a hand vaguely in response before trudging past him. With a sigh, he followed them, praying to whoever was listening that the next day would give them something.

* * *

There were only three rooms and a techmaturgical elevator on each of the tower's four floors, so Garen was boosted by the prospect of finishing the search quickly.

After Jarvan convinced the guards to vacate, the three each picked a room on the ground floor and got to work looking and prodding every inch of their respective rooms.

It was quiet save for the sounds of moving furniture for nearly an hour before, _finally_, Jarvan let out a confused, "Huh?"

Katarina and Garen dashed out of their rooms, hurdling furniture to see what Jarvan had found.

What he had found, it turned out, was a small keyhole that had been hidden underneath a bookshelf for so long the wooden floor it was in looked brand new in comparison.

"It doesn't even look like there's anything here," Garen mused, feeling around the ground for any cracks. He rapped near the hole and there was a collective intake of breath at the hollow sound.

Eagerly, Katarina shrugged off Garen's jacket, pulled out a lock pick and wrench from her boot, and poked around, whispering excitedly, "It seems like just a regular lock!"

The two men stepped back to allow the Noxian to work and exchanged energized grins before turning their gazes back on Katarina.

As he admired the smooth skin of her back and the cascade of her red hair pooling on the floor, the commander wondered with sudden suspicion what was going through Jarvan's head. He shot a sneaky glance toward the prince and was in utter disbelief at his friend's unabashed look of appreciation.

Garen stared at Jarvan until he finally looked up, and the commander narrowed his eyes as if to say, "Really?" The prince cleared his throat and looked at the ceiling in response. The Vanguard commander crossed his arms and kept his eyes moving from the assassin to Jarvan, daring him to try and stare again.

A loud click drew their attention back to the floor and Katarina exhaled heavily, sticking a small knife into the hole for the leverage to lift up enough to reveal an expertly hidden trapdoor.

Together they propped it open and looked inside to see a wooden ladder leading down into the darkness. The hole itself looked big enough to accommodate someone Garen's size, although barely.

"I'll go get a light!" Jarvan exclaimed, running out of the room.

Garen looked to Katarina and couldn't help but grin and whisper, "Are you excited? You're getting closer to your father!"

His heart soared when Katarina smiled back, saying, "Yes! And...thanks for your help in getting here."

"Hey, I helped a bunch too," Jarvan interjected as he kneeled beside them, three flashlights in hand.

"Surprisingly," she teased before adding seriously, "So, who wants to go down the creepy ladder first?" Both she and Jarvan looked at Garen.

"What...oh, fine," he grumbled, snatching a flashlight from the prince's hand. He slid into to hole in the floor, holding himself up by his arms and letting his feet dangle near the fourth rung of the ladder. After testing to see if it would hold his weight, he gently positioned himself on it entirely and began descending.

It was only about ten feet to the floor and he turned on the light to reveal a large room which was covered in a heavy layer of dust. A long table sat directly in the center and surrounded by chairs, and maps of Runeterra were plastered over the walls. There were several bookshelves about the room covered both in books and files, and on the opposite end was a small door.

"Come on down, everything looks fine," he called up to the two waiting above, who quickly joined him in the secret room.

Cautiously they each walked around the room, kicking up small clouds of dust where they stepped. After a moment, Jarvan began opening files at a bookshelf while Katarina began going through a thick folder that had been sitting on the table with a significantly smaller amount of dirt on its surface.

Garen was, instead, drawn to the maps on the wall. While there were maps of all Runeterra, the large map detailing the Valoran continent and its closest islands was the most intriguing; strings were pinned across the surface, leaving no major area of the land untouched. It was after a few minutes of tracing the points that Garen began to notice an interesting trend...

"Oh, my god," Katarina cried in a hushed tone.

Garen and Jarvan rushed to her side and she pointed at specific documents to skim. There were several Journal of Justice articles, the office League publication, with General DuCouteau's handwritten notes in the margins detailing hidden messages within the posts; naval logs with a list of fake names and the cargoes they had shipped, including arcano-seismic charges and Nyzer poisons; and a record tracing the origins of the aliases to a single location.

Finally, Jarvan whispered grimly, "The Institute of War..."

The three champions stood in a shocked silence, reading and re-reading the papers spread out before them, each trying and failing to deny the evidence that was stacking up against the most powerful organization in Valoran.

As they rummaged through the rest of the file, it became evident that Marcus DuCouteau had done an incredible amount of research; there was nothing to suggest that any of the allegations against the Institute and were false. Institute High Councilor Heywan Relivash and the Journal of Justice's senior editor Ralston Farnsley were two of the most powerful men in Valoran, albeit in different ways, and here were their names, linked to what would be the greatest scandal the continent had ever seen.

As they neared the end of the stack of documents, an envelope closed with the House DuCouteau seal surfaced, which Katarina quickly pried open. The three huddled together, Garen and Jarvan directing their lights onto the letter which Katarina held in her two trembling hands.

* * *

_6 September, 21 CLE_

_If you are reading this letter, then you know the evidence that I have compiled against the Institute of War, and I beseech you to bring this information to light as soon as possible. Heywan Relivash, one of the three High Councilors of the Institute, seeks to gain absolute power in Valoran, the first step of which he made a reality by inciting a war between Noxus and Demacia. After the League's display in Kalamanda and subsequent takeover of the city, it was evident to the whole of Valoran the power they held and the lengths to which they are willing go. Relivash sought the power of the Nexuses in Kalamanda for his own. _

_As disturbing as that information is, there is more._

_Relivash, as is evident, developed a string of contacts, one of whom was Farnsley, who could pass hidden messages in the open through the news publications. But Relivash also had the backing of the Black Rose, a group you have no doubt encountered as the rubric for decoding the letter I left with my daughter was taken from me by their leader, a woman named LeBlanc. She is a League champion who excels in the art of deception, __able to take the form of anyone she chooses__. _

_LeBlanc is possibly more of a threat than even Relivash and the Institute. After confronting her, I learned that she is personally responsible for the death of General Boram Darkwill, the rise of Jericho Swain to power, and for carrying out many of the events in Kalamanda. I tried to stop her myself but her magic is powerful beyond comprehension and I was forced into hiding. I do not know what she plans for Noxus, but the plays for power in the vacuum of Darkwill's death are growing and I fear there will be civil unrest. Relivash, Farnsley, and LeBlanc must be stopped, no matter what the cost._

_-Marcus DuCouteau, General of Noxus_

_Post Script: If the reader of this letter is not one of my children, I humbly request that you inform them that, as of this date, I am __alive__._

* * *

A heartrending sob tore out of Katarina's throat as threw aside the letter and leaned against the table. Jarvan gripped her shoulder briefly, giving Garen a slight nod before turning to reorganize the documents strewn about the table. Hesitantly, the commander placed a hand on her back.

She looked over at him, tears muddying her chin as they worked through the dirt on her cheeks, and gave him the biggest, most sincere smile he had ever seen on the assassin's face.

"He might still be _alive_...!"

Garen offered her a small smile of his own, taking his hand from her as she straightened. Katarina chuckled quietly to herself, gradually breaking into a loud laugh and a maniacal grin.

"Swain...LeBlanc...everyone is going to _PAY_!"

Garen and Jarvan exchanged a glance and the latter shrugged, refocusing on the documents. The commander turned away from the Noxian, who had picked up her father's letter to read its contents again, and suddenly remembered the door he had seen when he first entered the room.

Trying the handle, he found that it was unlocked, and opened into a dark but well crafted tunnel, and he wondered silently where it exited. Perhaps another day. At least that explained how the Noxian general was able to hide the documents underneath the Demacian prison, although he was curious as to how DuCouteau knew of the room's existence and why it was never exploited for Noxus's gain.

He looked once more to Katarina and considered that, maybe, he was right about the DuCouteau's, and Demacia was dead wrong; he was willing to take the chance.


	7. Mistakes

_Hello all! So, in case y'all didn't notice, I tend to get carried away and my chapters get suuuuper long. As it were, this chapter is the longest yet.. Does this bother y'all? I can definitely split chapters up into smaller pieces, no problem. Anyway, let me know, otherwise I'll probably just keep posting long chapters. Thank you my dear reviewers!_

* * *

_Mistakes_

"What are you going to do about this, Jarvan?" Garen asked. The three had reconvened in the castle after putting everything back in its place and informing the prison wardens that they could return everything to order. The prince was sitting at his desk with the documents spread out across the top, Garen across from him, and Katarina in the connecting bathroom, washing her face.

Jarvan folded his hands together in front of his face, saying, "We have to come out with this information. If the Relivash is corrupt then something needs to be done. The League is supposed to work in the best interests of Valoran."

"And what about this LeBlanc," Katarina added as she stepped back into the room, her face free of dirt. "Have either of you ever seen her? Or fought her on the Fields of Justice?"

Garen shrugged but Jarvan actually answered, "I think," he began slowly, "that maybe the woman I saw when I was fighting Swain...maybe that was her."

"Oh, come on Jarvan," the commander responded incredulously. "Isn't that a bit of a stretch?"

"It was just a suggestion," the prince mumbled.

Katarina tapped her chin thoughtfully. "We can probably just go to the League itself and find out. I'm sure they have some kind of roster or archive or something. We've probably seen her before and just didn't know it."

"But your father's letter said she could look like anyone she wants," Garen reminded. "How will we ever know it's really her?"

They went quiet as they contemplated the truth in his statement and found no answer.

Jarvan threw up his hands in defeat. "I don't know! Let's just worry about it when we get there. For now we just need to bring Relivash to justice; afterwards, we can go scout out the League to find LeBlanc."

Garen and Katarina exchanged a worried glance but nodded in agreement. He was right; they were better off focusing on what they could do at the moment.

"I'll tell my father, and he can call all the representatives of the League here and make it official," the prince explained. "Katarina, would you be willing to be there? I know it's asking a lot, but it would mean more if we show it was a joint effort."

The assassin's face scrunched up in worry. It would likely not be well received by Noxus for a high-profile citizen such as she to come out as an ally of Demacia, and it had never been her intent to do so, and it could make it even more difficult to search for her father. "I'll think about it," she said curtly.

Jarvan looked understanding, saying, "Be here tomorrow at one PM if you decide to do it."

With a nod, Katarina stood, pulling the borrowed jacket over her form and beckoned Garen with a jerk of the head. "Get me outta here, I got celebratory drinks to knock back. "

The commander signaled for her to wait and turned to Jarvan, asking, "Mind if I talk to you after I walk her out?"

His friend gave him a confused look, but assented and wished Katarina a safe night before turning back to his desk. Garen nodded at the assassin and they began their walk out of the castle.

"Still acting Mr. Business?" she inquired.

The Demacian wasn't sure how to respond. He could keep up the act and push her further away, preserving his status and ensuring that nothing else would happen. It was the logical answer, and still, inside, his heart was begging him to defy rationality. He took a deep breath; his whole life had been built around maintaining the façade of perfection, but it had never made his life seem as satisfying as all the mistakes he had made with Katarina.

"I'm afraid to be around you," he confessed softly. "Wanting you is an error I can't afford to make. Even knowing that I could lose everything with the slightest misstep, I can't stop myself. The only way is to make sure you're out of the picture entirely." He looked over at her obscured face but could see her bite her lip.

"You don't think it's the same for me?" she snapped. "There are those in the Noxian High Command who would _kill _a person over slightest show of weakness." Her fist clenched at her side, pace quickened slightly.

He grabbed her arm, forcing her to stop and look up at him, defiance and anger only partially masking the blatant distress held in her eyes. "Then _why_ do you provoke the situation?" he hissed under his breath.

Katarina scoffed and looked aside, but deflated a little as she exhaled. "I'm not the only one provoking. But it's like you said. It's hard to stop." She tugged her arm from his grasp and continued walking.

It wasn't until they were out on the street that Garen asked, "What are we supposed to do?" He could not keep the desperate edge from creeping into his voice, or the slightly pleading expression off his face.

The assassin turned her back to him, and she suddenly looked so small to him, so breakable. So quietly he almost couldn't hear her, she whispered, "Is it a mistake if no one ever finds out?"

Garen's heart leapt to his throat.

"...I have to go," he croaked. He did not look back as he dashed back into the castle halls, his heart racing as he quickly traced his steps back to Jarvan's study.

What exactly was she suggesting? He had thought Katarina infallible, even entertained the idea that maybe she had been toying with him; this wasn't supposed to happen! If she had been harsh, denied anything between them he might have believed himself capable of continuing his distancing. But now...

Garen stood composing himself outside the prince's study, willing his body to return to a state of calm. Several minutes passed before he was successful in pushing his racing thoughts to back of his mind and return his face to its normal shade. Finally he pushed open the study door, greeting his friend and sinking into the chair across from him.

"So, what did you want to talk about?" The prince asked as he put aside the papers in front of him.

"I wanted to ask if you're interested in Katarina," Garen asked bluntly.

The prince looked at him like he was insane and asked, "Are you asking me this seriously?"

Instantly, Garen felt rather foolish, but he pressed on in his reasoning. "It's just...you were looking at her with interest the other day..."

Laughing awkwardly, Jarvan turned his embarrassed gaze to the side, muttering, "I was just looking, I swear! Besides, there's someone else I'm actually interested in."

Relief washed away the jealousy the commander hadn't even realized he was carrying and was replaced with intrigue. "Who? Why isn't it public?"

The prince scowled and actually fidgeted in his seat, leg bouncing in agitation. "Because it's not..._acceptable_." He shot a pointed stare at his friend. "Something I imagine you're well versed in."

Garen fought the urge to glare. "I guess this is why you were upset the other day?" he proposed, to which Jarvan nodded sullenly. "Is she not a Demacian?"

"Unlike someone I know, I'm not stupid," Jarvan taunted jokingly, this time earning a frown from the commander. "She's officially a Demacian now, an Elite Guard member even."

Garen quickly ran through a mental roster of the Elite Guard; there were very few women, which narrowed it down substantially, and after a minute of thought, he could think of only that would be met with criticism from the King.

He couldn't help but chuckle. "The Half-Dragon? What's her name...Shyvana?" The woman in question was a fierce fighter, no doubt, but far too emotionally driven for the commander to consider her a true Demacian soldier.

Jarvan narrowed his eyes. "So what if it is?"

Holding up his hands to show he meant no offense, Garen hastily replied, "I don't have a problem with her!" The prince settled back in his chair as did Garen, considering the object of the prince's affection. His interactions with Shyvana were limited primarily to the battlefield, and the way she seemed to rip through men like they were paper was impressive and intimidating to him; her dragon form, though, left him feeling unsettled. Although now an even more disturbing thought surfaced in his mind...

"Wait, doesn't she turn into a dragon when she gets passionate?" he questioned cautiously. He didn't want to judge but...

Immediately, Jarvan's composure fell, his face turning a brilliant shade of red. "PASSIONATELY _ANGRY_!" he sputtered. "Only when she's _angry_!"

Garen burst out laughing while his friend fumed at what was being implied. "I can't believe you would think that..." Jarvan muttered, but finally a grin appeared on his face against his will. "You're an asshole."

The commander chuckled again, but as their laughter tapered off, he quietly asked, "Is it specifically because she's not fully human?"

Jarvan sobered quickly and nodded, looking down at his hands which sat folded in front of him. "I find no fault in her being what she is, but apparently it's of the utmost importance to Father. Said it would ruin appearances, and that she lacks diplomatic training which would reflect poorly on Demacia."

An expression of mild distress twisted the Demacian prince's face as he looked to Garen. "I know what I said to you is true, how some mistakes can't be covered. And I know everything could be lost, but it doesn't make it any easier to resist."

Katarina's convincing hands flashed across Garen's mind, the way she'd pinned him effortlessly against his leader's desk even though he knew better. "But, you're the prince," Garen murmured, banishing the image from his mind. "Surely there's something you can do."

"There's nothing," Jarvan insisted darkly. "I just try to keep my distance and make sure she's happy."

Garen contemplated his friend's dilemma. In some ways, he had it easier than him; Shyvana was a Demacian and for the most part respected (or feared). But Jarvan was also under the scrutiny of the public at an even higher level than himself, which made things very difficult. He thought of what Katarina had told him many times in the past, and came to a simple yet very complicated conclusion.

"Life is too short to be serious and miserable all the time, "Garen claimed. "If it's worth it to you, maybe you should consider doing it anyway. If no one finds out then..." He trailed off, feeling self-conscious after seeing Jarvan's surprised expression.

After a moment the prince's surprise was replaced by thoughtfulness. "I understand your point, but can it really be that easy?" He sighed heavily, closing his eyes. "It's a terrible feeling, having to choose between what you want and what you're supposed to want."

The commander let out a short laugh and grumbled, "Tell me about it," under his breath. This coming from the man who had all but forced that choice on him.

"I'd be careful if I were you, Garen," the prince warned. "I'm telling you, if my father finds out that you have something going on with Katarina, I don't know what I can do about it."

The commander waved away the concern. "Nothing has happened so there's nothing for him to find out."

Jarvan leaned forward, an interested look on his face, and said, "Come on. You can be honest with me; have you slept with her?"

It was Garen's turn to lose his composure, his face slowly burning under his friend's intent stare. "I-! N-no! I swear, we're not physical!" Well, it wasn't a complete lie.

The prince eyed him doubtfully, but sat back, seeming to accept his friend's flustered reaction as truth. "Well, that's good. You should keep it that way, otherwise I think it could be called fraternization."

Garen did his best not to think think about his hands on Katarina's breasts, just in case Jarvan could read minds like his sister.

"I'd better get going!" Garen declared as he rose from his chair. Jarvan seemed to be in better spirits after talking about Shyvana and he wasn't interested in Katarina, so the commander felt that their chat had been productive. Knowing the prince was in a similar boat as him only boosted his confidence that he could get away with seeing the Noxian, a fact he was more excited than guilty about.

"Alright, alright," Jarvan said, offering a wave and a small smile to Garen. "Thanks for not calling me crazy."

Garen gave a short wave of his own as he left, laughing, "Who am I to call anyone crazy?"

* * *

With the rest of his evening free, Garen took a few hours and spent them training, a welcome relief from the stresses of the day. It was dark as he headed home and he was eager to finally have the opportunity to get an early start on paying his sleep debt.

The commander revelled in his mother's absence as he entered the blissfully quiet manor, detouring to the kitchen to eat a sandwich before going upstairs to shower. As he rinsed, Garen hoped that wherever Katarina was, she wasn't drinking too heavily. It wasn't that he didn't think she couldn't handle herself; quite the opposite, he feared she would be even more impulsively violent than when sober.

Well, it wasn't his problem tonight; tonight, he was determined to relax. When was the last time he had been able to sit down with a beer and read a book, without his mother wanting to talk (or nag) about one thing or another? He _needed_ this time, uninterrupted.

Dressed only in a clean pair of shorts, the Demacian perused the bookshelves in the downstairs study, sprawling across a couch with one of the few fictional works in the house, a mystery novel he had once seen Lux reading. It was an interesting enough book, but soon the combination of reading and beer had the commander sleeping.

He wasn't sure how long he was asleep before he was awakened by a heavy knock on the front door. A glance at the clock showed it to be just past one in the morning, so with a good amount of irritation he trudged to the door and looked through the window at the side. With a heavy sigh, he swung open the door, huffing, "What the hell are you doing here?"

Katarina staggered past him, laughing, "Bars er closed now! Everyone was great!" The smell of alcohol that accompanied her laugh was so strong that Garen almost recoiled.

The commander seized her shoulders and steered her back toward the open door. "You can't be here, Katarina. I'm amazed you even got here as drunk as you are, but you have to leave."

Sluggishly, the assassin tossed a knife at him, which flew over his shoulder and clattered on the floor, but distracted him for the split second it took her to flash-step to the stairs, where she stumbled on the bottom step, giggling. "It's cleaner here!"

Garen cursed and slammed the door. So much for paying that sleep debt, not that he could have resisted her if she had moved to stay again. He did soften as he watched her pull off his jacket and tug off her spiked boots, her face running a gambit of expressions from frustrated to happy. It was so rare to see her emote at all, in a way it was rather charming.

Garen followed the sock-clad woman as she slid across the foyer into the kitchen, only to arrive in time to see her pull a bottle Craggy Ice from the ice box and pop the top off on the counter.

"I don't think you need to be drinking anymore," he grunted, lunging for the bottle in her hand.

Katarina replied by taking an enormous swig, dashing just out of reach of his flailing hands and running back into the foyer, screaming, "But we're celebratin'!"

It was at that point that Garen mentally gave up. If she wanted to drink and run around like an idiot until she puked, he wasn't going to stop her; he was just going to crowd control and make sure nothing was broken in her wake.

The sound of her footsteps led the Demacian to the study where she was walking around perusing the shelves intently. Grinning, she pointed to a dusty family picture from when Garen was a teen and Lux was a child. "Were you always serious?!"

He leaned against the door, arms crossed, and simply retorted, "Yes."

His short answer sent the woman into a small fit of laughter. "Hey!" she exclaimed, suddenly switching gears. "Can I use your bath?"

"I gue- _Shit_!"

No sooner had the words left her mouth, a confused expression gripped her face and, before he could finish his statement, she doubled over as a stream of almost pure alcohol shot out of her mouth.

"Uuuurrrh, sorry," she mumbled, covering her mouth. "I'm fine!"

All Garen could think was, thank the gods the floor was wood. "Just...go upstairs. Please?" Happily enough, she nodded and dashed out of the study, finishing her drink, with Garen trailing close behind. After grabbing a towel from the kitchen, the commander knelt on the floor and began cleaning, trying to remain optimistic; if he had to guess by looks and smell alone, it was ninety percent alcohol, which made the job slightly less terrible.

Opting to toss the towel in the trash rather than add to the laundry, with mild trepidation he made his way up the stairs. The water was running and he could hear her humming quietly, so he knocked lightly on the door, saying, "Are you ok?"

"Yep!" she replied cheerfully. "Everything is fine!"

He sighed in relief. "Well, ok, the bathroom is connected to Lux's room too so you can just go stay in there when you're finished."

Katarina didn't reply for a moment, and he heard a short scramble followed by the sounds of her wretching. "OK..." came her shaky reply, notably less energetic. Maybe it was insensitive, but he couldn't help but laugh. He knew exactly the point of night she was at, when that floaty drunk feeling started to decline, and he did not envy her in the slightest.

But nothing had been broken, so Garen felt that his work was done for the night. "Hey, I'm going to bed. Hope you feel better tomorrow. And, we hope you show up at the conference."

The assassin grumbled something incoherent from the other side of the door, so Garen moved away and turned off the light in his room, falling wearily into his bed. Her appearance had been unexpected but, even after all that, it was only one thirty, so he hadn't missed out on much sleep at all. He had just started to drift away when a slight pressure on the bed made him turn over to Katarina's form shifting under the covers to lie next to him.

Her voice floated up sad and quiet, muffled by the pillow she was face down, in before he could react. "Just let me pretend for one night that things are different."

"What do you mean?" he whispered back.

Her shoulders drew up around her and she turned to face him. "I'll go tomorrow. So tonight, I just want to pretend that there's no Noxus and no Demacia."

"You're drunk and you don't make sense," he muttered, to which she laughed softly. But he did not make her move, and she did not object when he inched his hand under her pillow to brush against hers.

When he woke just after the sun, she was already gone.

* * *

"Have you seen Prince Jarvan?" Garen asked an attendant he had seized in the corridor. One o'clock was fast approaching and he had yet to see the prince in the main hall.

"His majesty in his study," the disgruntled man replied. "He asked that no one disturb him before the conference."

The commander sighed and released the attendant, who rushed away into the conference room. He wasn't sure why he was surprised at Jarvan waiting until the last second to appear; he did like being fussed over. If that was the case, Garen thought as he stomped to his friend's study, he would give him a fuss.

The commander did not knock, simply flinging the heavy door open, shouting, "I'm not going to let you be late to your own meeting!"

He wasn't sure who was the most surprised at his abrupt entrance, himself, Jarvan, or Shyvana, whom the prince had pinned rather suggestively against the wall of the study.

Without a second thought Garen backed out and slammed the door behind him, calling out steadily, "Don't make everyone wait!" and quickly pacing back to the main hall. Well _that_ was unexpected. He only waited a minute in the hall before Jarvan walked in calmly, followed by an angry looking Shyvana, who both approached the grinning commander.

"Has Katarina shown up?" Jarvan inquired in a low voice. Shyvana merely glared.

Garen shook his head in the negative, adding, "She said she would come though."

"I hope so," the prince murmured before walking before the crowd of officials assembled in the hall.

"If you say anything, I will personally end you," the Half-Dragon threatened under her breath, her furious gaze never wavering from his.

Garen smiled in what he hoped was a reassuring manner, stating quietly, "I'm glad for you," before moving to stand behind his friend. He saw Shyvana nod slowly and join the Elite Guard and Dauntless Vanguard on the fringe of the room.

Still no sign of Katarina.

The clock chimed once and Jarvan stepped forward, stating in a booming voice, "Representatives of the Institute of War and citizens of Demacia, I have come forward today with grave news..."

Suddenly, Garen caught a glimpse of red and black, and Jarvan was interrupted by a shrill scream from the assembly, as Katarina flash-stepped to his side, muttering to Garen, "Sorry I'm late."

Movement from behind alerted the commander to the movement of the Vanguard as they rushed toward the assassin with cries of "Demacia!" Without hesitation Garen pulled his sword from his side and blocked a strike from his first captain, who stepped back in surprise.

"STOP!"

Jarvan's voice carried throughout the hall and brought a stunned silence in its wake as he walked deliberately over to the assassin and shook her hand. The Vanguard and the Elite Guard still hovered around Jarvan, Garen, and Katarina, weapons drawn.

"Miss DuCouteau has been of great assistance in the collection of the information I am about to present to you. I requested her presence here to show that situation is grave enough to warrant cooperation between Demacia and Noxus. Stand down."

Katarina smirked thinly and waved her hand at the disgruntled Demacian soldiers, who had no choice but to follow orders and retreat to their positions in room. Jarvan IV shot a glance at his father, who nodded for him to continue.

As the prince explained the evidence against the Institute of War, Garen, without breaking eye contact with the crowd, whispered to Katarina, "How's the hangover?"

"Kill me now," she replied likewise. It was all he could do to keep from laughing.

They stood in silence for the remainder of Jarvan's address, until he opened the floor. With good reason, the representatives of the Institute were shocked and doubtful, but Katarina and Jarvan thoroughly answered each of their attacking questions.

It was well over an hour before the conference settled and the crowd dispersed, the Institute representatives rushing to leave Demacia and return to the League to begin an investigation into Heywan Relivash. The three champions sighed in relief and Jarvan quickly excused himself to his father's side, leaving Garen to deal with Katarina and the Vanguard.

"I don't want to protect some Noxian whore," one of his soldier's spat, earning cheers from the other members of the Vanguard.

Garen could see the muscles in Katarina's jaw clench and her fingers stray to her daggers as she hissed, "Like I need your protection!"

The commander quickly intervened, moving to stand between the assassin and his soldiers. "I don't care what you want!" he barked. "Prince Jarvan ordered Miss DuCouteau under our protection should she need it, and we follow orders!"

"Doesn't it bother you, sir?" another soldier questioned as he glared at Katarina.

The commander rounded on the soldier who spoke, one of the youngest soldiers in the Vanguard. "What bothers me, is that all of you want to go against orders! Now, if anyone else has complaints they can take it straight to Jarvan! Understood?" No one said anything, but the mistrust and hatred was still plainly on their faces.

"You're all dismissed!" the commander ordered, sending the grumbling Vanguard back to their scheduled duties.

Katarina whirled on Garen as soon as the soldiers were out of sight. "Babysitters? Are you kidding me? Fuck that!"

The Demacian sighed, "You don't have to stay here if you don't want. It's just if you want to walk around, someone from the Vanguard will have to be with you."

"That's worse off than before!" she exclaimed, tapping her foot in irritation. "As soon as I can leave, I'm out. Talon!" Garen was confused as to why she suddenly shouted the name of the assassin when he heard faint footsteps behind him.

"What do you want?" the cloaked man replied, idly flexing his wrist which had a long blade mounted on top of it.

"How long have you been here?" Garen frowned. Damn assassins. Talon ignored the Demacian, not even looking away from Katarina to acknowledge that he'd spoken.

"Relivash must know something about where Father is and I have a feeling he's not going to go down quietly. My guess is he'll try and run to Noxus and the Black Rose." Katarina's tone turned a little despairing when Talon's impassive face did not change. "Please...if they try and get into Noxus, will you stop them?"

There was tense moment where he said nothing, casually inspecting his weapon, but finally his brusque voice answered, "You know, Swain returned to the High Command. Got a lot of support." His mouth twitched into a frown. "After this little show, it's gonna be very hard to be a DuCouteau in Noxus."

Katarina cursed. "Will you be able to stay in the city? Can you see that Cass leaves?"

A wicked grin spread across his face and he flicked his wrist excitedly. "Everyone knows not to cross blades with me. I'll keep an eye out for Relivash and your sister," he stated and vanished from sight.

Garen crossed his arms and Katarina let out the breath she'd been holding. "I wonder when my luck with that one will run out," she brooded, moving to leave the hall.

"What do you mean? I thought you were like siblings?" Garen inquired. He knew nothing about Talon, but had assumed that he and Katarina worked well together.

"It's just...he's only loyal to my father. Father wanted us to consider him like family, but it's never really been like that. I think he's only helping me since it happens to coincide with his goals." Katarina glanced back over her shoulder to where the other assassin had been, as if making sure he hadn't reappeared. "So I wonder if his loyalty extends to me and Cass, and if it doesn't, what he'll do when he doesn't need me anymore."

"He won't do anything," Garen assured, although he had the same uneasy feeling about Talon any time his name was mentioned. Katarina nodded but was not comforted; they might be better fighters, but that didn't mean anything when the assassin could simply slit their throats while they slept.

"So...what now?" Katarina questioned as they walked out into the streets of Demacia.

Garen paused, running a hand through his hair. "I don't know," he admitted. "We need to do some research on LeBlanc, but I don't know if we should wait until after Relivash's investigation or not."

"Well, the sooner the better, right? Maybe she'll be weaker now with a big chunk of her network taken out," the Noxian suggested hopefully.

"Sounds reasonable," Garen mused. "Then, do you want to leave for the League tomorrow? We can look into the League Judgements and see if there's anything useful in the archives."

She nodded in agreement, then changed the subject, a sly smile on her face. "So, now that I can be out in public, you gonna show me around?"

* * *

Garen felt increasingly light-headed as the day progressed. The longer he thought about it, the faster his heart beat and the weaker his knees got, until by the time the sun was setting, he was sure he must be having a very slow heart attack.

He could justify to himself that spending the day with her was within the realm of his duty; she was under Vanguard protection, he hadn't come up with a guard rotation, and they couldn't just let a Noxian run around Demacia unescorted.

What he couldn't wrap his mind around was why she wanted to go out in the first place. They had literally walked through the majority of the capital city, earning many shocked looks, glares, and whispers, but she seemed to brush them off easily. Nothing had changed in her personality either, evident in the sarcasm and her teasing jabs she easily threw at and exchanged with him.

But then she had forced him to buy her lunch, declaring that she hadn't been able to eat earlier for puking, and his mind started racing. If he tilted his head and squinted, it almost seemed like... a date. He tried to shake the idea off as he paid for the food, but the thought was planted and would not die.

After eating they walked through the market, exchanging stories about their childhoods, and Garen wondered if she had intended it to be a date. Her words yesterday rang out in his mind:_ Is it a mistake if no one ever finds out? _The Demacian swallowed nervously, allowing himself to pretend for a moment that her words then and her actions now were related. Maybe she knew the circumstances of the morning were the perfect cover for them to go out; on the other hand, maybe she was just bored. He was going to go crazy.

The sun had begun to set when she demanded that he take her to the pier, and it was the last mental straw for the poor commander.

"Why are we doing this?"

Katarina, placed her hands over her hips and stared out across the water, which had a beautiful orange glow from the sun. "Because I've never gone anywhere in this city. It's always to the castle and back to the inn, or your house. Besides, if I...can't go back to Noxus for a bit, I might as well make the best of it."

Garen cleared his throat and tried again. "But why the... dinner, and the pier..." he trailed off, feeling completely ridiculous, and added quickly, "Nevermind."

The colors of the sky made it difficult to tell, but he thought her face looked a little pink. "I'm sure you owe me for something," she offered weakly.

A smile worked its way onto Garen's worried face and he laughed, "Yeah, probably." The tension in his stomach dissipated somewhat and, for a minute, he was content in the comfortable silence that rested between them as they took in the sunset.

Garen flicked his eyes from the ocean to the woman beside him, and that simple act was his undoing. She looked absolutely _radiant_, and it wasn't even the proverbial fire the sun had sparked in her eyes, or the soft, pink glow of her skin that struck him; what had him floored, was the calm way in which he realized that he could happily spend every evening until he died, watching the sun set on her face. A wave of longing crashed over the commander so heavy he couldn't help but think, what if...

Katarina turned and met his intense gaze with a gentle smirk. "If you're gonna say something, then say it. Hesitation is for idiots."

Her prompting was just enough to push him, and he was sure his heart was going to explode out of his chest as he opened his mouth to voice what he felt were the most insane words he'd ever spoken.

"I have to go back to the castle to tell Jarvan that we are going to the League tomorrow," he began slowly. She waited expectantly, an eyebrow raised, and he continued in a voice so soft he could scarcely hear himself over the sound of his blood pounding in his head, "But after that... I mean, you said yesterday that...you didn't like the inn you were staying at..."

He licked his dry lips and looked across the water, face burning for a reason other than the dying sunlight on his face. It couldn't have been more obvious, what he was trying to say, but Katarina let him struggle to get the message out.

"Would you come home with me?"

Garen could see a small grin on her face from the corner of his eye as she turned back toward the water too, whispering "I could do that."

* * *

It was dark as the pair made their way from the castle to the Crownguard manor. As Garen talked to Jarvan, Katarina had 'borrowed' a cloak from the storeroom, which now covered her face, but they stuck to the alleyways, just in case. They walked so closely together it was nearly impossible to see the commander's fingers tightly entwined with hers.

Garen dropped the keys on the back porch of the house but his shaky hands were able to finally get them in the lock. The door had only been shut a second before he pushed Katrina against it in a desperate kiss, returned with equal fervor.

His rough hands gripped the back of her neck and became tangled in her long, red hair and he tilted her head just enough for him to kiss her ear, down her jawline, her throat, to the hollow point between her collar bones. The sounds that left her lips when he pushed aside the collar of her jacket and left marks along her neck nearly drove him to madness, but he knew he couldn't stop.

All the while, her breathing grew heavier, more erratic, until finally she couldn't stand it; her breath was hot against his ear and her commanding voice had a note of urgency as she made her last demand.

"Sleep with me."

Garen paused, and disengaged his hands from her hair, placing them trembling against the door on either side of her face.

"Why?"

She hadn't expected him to question; how could she possibly tell him that he was the only reason she hadn't fallen apart completely? Even in light of all the recent downturn her life had taken, it all seemed manageable with him by her side. She wasn't sure when things changed, but he had somehow worked his way into her life and ripped out all the emotions she'd been burying inside her, making her feel more alive than any battle. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes; he'd made her life brighter, she could give him the truth.

"Because I made my choice, and it's you."

The tension that had built in his chest as he waited for her answer melted away and Garen let out a soft sigh. He hadn't realized how much he needed to hear those words; a smile lit his face.

Katarina DuCouteau and Garen Crownguard, were done with being perfect. If this was a mistake, it was one they were willing to make over and over again.

"Sleep with me," she said again, her voice less insistent but still unwavering.

He did not question a second time.

* * *

LeBlanc knew that with the investigation into the League's corruption, it was only a matter of time before Marcus's daughter and her Demacian lackeys began looking into her history, and the Deceiver was never unprepared. She had spies all over Valoran, Demacia being no exception, and she had sent them out to observe the three champions and report anything that could be useful to her in taking them out of the picture.

So when she learned that the Vanguard commander had been seen with the Noxian entering his home late at night, an idea began forming in her head, and she allowed herself a wicked smile as she recognized a perfect opportunity to ensure Demacia was too weak to oppose her.

She would only need to sow the seeds of doubt and the Demacians would rip themselves apart.

Gods, how she loved it when a plan fell into place.


	8. Maintaining Appearances

_Hey! So sorry about the time it took to put out this chapter! Shit's going doooown in school, so many assignments plus interviews for internships and all that jazz. Thanks for letting me take a weekend off! I went to the fair :) Also, one of my pet rats died :( in honor of little Octavius I threw him in here as a summoner. Can you find the "Leon: The Professional" reference? :D Great movie. Also, if you've never read LeBlanc's Judgement, I would highly recommend you do so before or after this chapter! Anyway, here it is, finally, chapter eight!_

* * *

_Maintaining Appearances_

* * *

Katarina had not woken once, and was peacefully tucked into Garen's side, but the commander stared at the ceiling well into the night. He was afraid move and risk waking the sleeping woman at his side, and any time he drifted off, he would unintentionally wake himself if he started to move at all. But he was content to lie, holding her hand draped across his chest, and replay moments in his mind; he was no stranger to long days with little sleep.

The assassin stirred, but reflexively tensed as she did, whipping her hand to her side for weapons that weren't there. Garen chuckled and she groaned in embarrassment, burying her face in his side.

"How long have you been up?" she mumbled.

"A while," he admitted, finally stretching his arms over his head and rolling over on his side to face her. "I didn't want to wake you."

Katarina smirked, but said nothing, and an awkward silence filled the space between them. Their eyes met and parted several times until the Demacian wondered aloud, "So...back to sleep?"

The Noxian sat up, letting the sheet pool around her waist and Garen hopelessly failed to avert his eyes. "We could always just leave now," she suggested, flashing him a devious smile.

"It's probably the middle of the night," he whispered; he was fighting a losing battle to keep his eyes on hers.

She pushed him flat on his back, her grin growing wider and her face taking on a very predatory expression. "Well I'm wide awake now. You got a better idea?"

* * *

Scavenging for their respective clothing and armor pieces had taken them throughout the house, from the bathroom to the back door, but eventually Garen and Katarina trudged out of the city. The sun hadn't risen completely, and the cool morning air was refreshing to the sleepless duo.

"Do you think they'll let us look at the Judgements of another Champion?" Garen asked curiously while he adjusted his pack on his back. "They're pretty personal." A light shudder ran between his shoulder blades at the thought of his own Judgement.

Katarina winced also, no doubt remembering her own. "I think if we just let them know what we need it for they'll allow it. It's not just pleasure reading." He hoped she was right.

They walked along the road to the League sharing stories and debating politics, and Garen was surprised at how fast nightfall came, even after a full day of walking. They were grateful, though, to finally rest, and the Demacian was even more pleased when the assassin allowed him to roll out his bedroll close to hers.

As he watched the shadows the smoldering fire cast upon her face, he finally asked, "How did you get your scar?"

Her hand flew up to touch her cheek, as if in defense. "A stupid mistake," she muttered. "My orders were to assassinate an officer, but I thought I was better than that and killed a general. That officer went on to ambush and destroy my contingent." A rueful laugh escaped her. "Nearly killed me but I put a knife in his eye eventually. Got the scar in return."

"What made you decide to not use magic to heal it completely?"

The assassin rolled onto her back and stared up the stars. "Keeps me somewhat humble, I guess. It was supposed to remind me that duty comes before passion, but..." she laughed sincerely and turned back to shoot him an amused look, "that hasn't worked out too well lately."

Gingerly, Garen reached out to place a calloused hand against her cheek, his thumb brushing across the bottom of the scar. "I like it."

Her green eyes closed, a faint smile lifting her face.

* * *

Their early start the day before put them at the Institute's front doors in the early afternoon the next day. Garen always considered the Institute to be unnecessarily showy; he felt they showed death and battle as glamorous, which was far from the truth. As they entered the enormous glowing arches a tingle of arcane power rushed through them, inhibiting some of their natural abilities: Garen felt himself slow, his armor feeling heavier than normal, while Katarina's footsteps suddenly echoed through the halls.

"I hate feeling like I'm ten times slower than usual," the assassin complained and Garen heartily agreed. It was the price they paid for the Institute to have the power they did, although he noted that Valoran's trust in them not to abuse that power had clearly been misplaced.

The two Champions each took a temporary room in the residency hall of the League, acknowledging the occasional Summoner or fellow Champion as they passed in the halls.

"I wanna clean off," Katarina declared when they reached her room, which was a few doors away from Garen's. "Let's meet back up in an hour and we can go talk to the Curator about those Judgements."

The Demacian readily complied, as eager to bathe as she, and, once in his room, he wasted no time in jumping into shower, savoring the feeling of the cold water on his skin. Rubbing a hand over his prickly face, he opted for a shave as well. His face heated a little as he considered that he would have to stay clean-shaven when Katarina was around, just in case.

Fifteen minutes passed and Garen was already finished; he rolled his eyes at the amount of time the woman needed to shower, which inadvertently led the commander's thoughts down a less than virtuous path. With a shake of his head, he set about exploring the room furnished with all manner of techmaturgical appliances which he was unsure of how to work.

After a few minutes spent pressing buttons on the nightstand next the bed, the screen across from him hummed and flashed on, allowing him the option to spectate current and past matches. It occurred to him to search for matches with LeBlanc in the lineup, but his luck didn't stretch that far; the listing only went back a week and he couldn't find a single fight the with so-called Deceiver.

No less hopeful, the Demacian laid back to watch a random battle, a five against five match of Ionian, Zaunite, and neutral Champions. Before he could learn the outcome, Katarina knocked. The bed begged him not to leave, but with a groan he forced himself to the door.

"Ready, princess?" the Noxian teased, eyeing his mussed hair and sleepy expression.

"Says the one who needed a whole hour to get ready," the commander shot back as he shut the door. A light punch connected with his arm in response and he mentally commended himself for his verbal victory.

"So, the archive curator," Garen mused while they walked down the stairs into the basement, "isn't he the League Champion...Nasus, I think?" Because he'd never been exceedingly outgoing, Garen hadn't bothered talking to all the Champions of the League, a fact he was sorely regretting as he realized he knew very little about many of them.

Katarina, though, nodded instantly. "Yeah, that's him. I've fought with him a few times before. He doesn't say a whole lot but he's a reasonable guy...dog...thing. He should recognize the importance of letting us look at the Judgements." The Demacian hoped she was right.

The archives within the Institute were just as massive as the rest of the building, almost matching the entire length of the first floor, although the ceiling was not as tall. As soon as he pulled open the heavy double doors, the smell of old paper and ink greeted Garen, something he found comforting in spite of the overall oppressive feel of the underground library.

"Can I help you?" a friendly voice piped up from behind the counter to their right. A young male summoner with a name tag that read "Octavius" sat looking eagerly at the pair as he slammed shut a thick book titled _Basic Tactics and Strategies for a New Summoner_.

A disdainful smile spread across Katarina's face and she leaned against the counter. "Run along and get your boss. We need to talk to Nasus."

Octavius's smile faltered for a moment and he stammered, "I-I'm sure I can get whatever you need. Nasus...doesn't like to be bothered unnecessarily."

"We need to look at the transcripts of Champion Judgements," Garen interjected gently, silencing the assassin who was about to speak. "I'm not sure that you'll be able to give us the permission."

The young man sent a crestfallen glance at his book and said, "Oh, yeah. I'll be right back." Katarina smiled smugly at his back as the summoner turned to enter the suite of offices behind him.

"New summoner," she teased. "Probably gotten one of us killed for stupid reasons."

"Maybe." the Demacian conceded, "but you don't have to be an asshole about it. Everyone starts somewhere."

The assassin looked taken aback at his remark and clicked her tongue in agitation, but finally let out a sigh, slumping slightly. "I'm getting soft, hanging around you," she groaned.

"Ah, Katarina DuCouteau, The Sinister Blade, and Garen Crownguard, The Might of Demacia," a deep, flowing voice interrupted. "An interesting combination."

Nasus was a huge figure, as tall and broad as Garen, though with his dimly glowing eyes and canine teeth, he was a great deal more intimidating. "Octavius tells me you wish to view the Champion Judgements." The summoner in question sat stiffly next the Curator and flinched slightly at the sound of his name.

"That's right," Katarina replied. "No doubt you've heard of the allegations against High Councilor Heywan Relivash."

"I have," he acknowledged, looking toward the small woman. "That does not explain why you wish to see the Judgements."

The Noxian looked to Garen with an expression of reluctance, so he stated as diplomatically as possible, "We have a hand-written journal with evidence of the involvement of a League Champion."

Nasus's stoic face did not change. "This information was not made public."

"Well we're not lying," Katarina snapped.

There was a long moment of silence as he considered the assassin's outburst, then he motioned them behind the desk into the office, commanding, "Start from the beginning."

With the door shut behind them, Garen and Katarina explained LeBlanc's involvement as an agent of Relivash and Marcus DuCouteau's warning of her power; Nasus listened intently, his impassive expression becoming grim while they talked.

"We were thinking her Judgement might have hints about her weaknesses and the archives might have information on her type of magic," Garen summarized, looking hopefully at the canine Champion. "Will you help us?"

Nasus was quiet for several moments, weighing the presented facts and the possible implications before he finally stated, "I do not ally myself with any particular city-state." the assassin looked ready to jump at him when he continued, "However, in my homeland, I was the authority on the Cycle of Life and Death. If LeBlanc is revealed to be as powerful and ambitious as you might think, then the Cycle could become disrupted on Runeterra as it was on my homeland when my brother went mad."

Katarina interrupted before he could go on. "So are you helping us or not?"

The Curator of the Sands considered himself a patient being, but his eyes narrowed in irritation at the woman's attitude. "Yes," he affirmed, "I will allow you to look at her Judgement, and I will assist you in the archives when I'm here."

Garen and Katarina shared triumphant smiles as they rose to follow Nasus into the library. Expecting a long walk deep into the archives into a hidden room, Garen felt rather silly as they crossed the lobby to a simple-looking door, which had a softly gleaming tablet where the knob should have been. The Curator pressed his furred hand against it until a melodic chime sounded and the door swung open.

It was a plain room, lit from the ceiling by a single blue light and housing only a long desk, a few chairs, and several large filing cabinets, labeled alphabetically. The door closed quietly behind them.

Pulling open one of the drawers, Nasus handed Garen a thick set of folders, LeBlanc's name on the front of every one. "The written transcripts of the Judgement is in there, along with a detailed background and history and any relevant information."

"Hey, aren't you going to get in trouble for this?" Garen questioned, passing the files to Katarina who eagerly began rummaging through documents.

Oddly enough, the grin that spread across Nasus's muzzle reminded Garen of the one Katarina wore when facing a challenge. "I do not think the Council of Equity is in the position to deny the need for further investigation into the Institute."

The Demacian commander gave the Champion a smile of gratitude, which Nasus replied to with a nod as he turned to exit the room. The canine looked back over his shoulder at the door before returning to his office to write a letter; he'd told Shauna he would let her know of others investigating the Black Rose...

A picture of the woman was the first thing they pulled from the file, and they studied it intently, each trying to memorize her face: Pale skin, dark hair, and a cold, calculating smile...Garen let out a short laugh and murmured, "I guess Jarvan wasn't crazy after all."

As they went on, a chill crawled up Garen's spine at the amount of data the Institute of War had compiled on the elusive Champion and the Black Rose; he could only imagine what they'd collected on high-profile Champions like him and Katarina. There was information about the Black Rose dating back to even before the League's formation, including a history of Noxian policies which were influenced by the group and other events that were apparently their doing.

Another set of papers had descriptions of her fighting style within the Fields of Justice, but more importantly the proposed extent of her magical capabilities outside of the Institute. It was as Marcus's letter suggested; she could take on new faces and perform intricate illusions on a grand scale, in addition to her magic being incredibly damaging.

However, in spite of the staggering descriptions of her abilities, her Judgement had them both stunned: The past, the old and new LeBlanc, the magic that suggested LeBlanc was something that lived through the physical form of Evaine.

"How can we possibly kill her?!" Katarina cried. "She's not even a real person!"

"No, she's a real person," Garen asserted. "We just need to destroy the crystal in her hair piece. That's probably where a good chunk of her power comes from."

"But she's talented in her own right," Katarina argued, pointing to a line from the Judgement about LeBlanc's physical self, Evaine. "Maybe we know we need to get rid of the LeBlanc entity that exists in the crystal, but that brings us back to how do we even get close to her? She so powerful and she can look like whoever she wants."

Admittedly, it sounded hopeless to the commander, but he was determined to remain optimistic. "LeBlanc may be really clever, but she's still basically human," he reminded, "Meaning she's bound to make a mistake sooner or later. Something that will let us know where she is."

"What if she doesn't?" Katarina whispered. "Or what if we're too stupid to realize it? We might fail, Garen."

The Demacian wanted so badly to reach out and put an arm around her, or to take her hand, but instead he settled on gently nudging her side. "We've come too far to fail."

* * *

Nasus wouldn't allow the pair to make copies of the information because of its highly confidential nature, so they stayed in the room for several hours reading, re-reading, and discussing the most important aspects of her file so they wouldn't forget. By the time they emerged, Octavius informed them that the Curator was gone for the evening.

"I know the archives really well," the summoner quietly assured, "and I'm here a lot, so I can help you find books if you need them."

Garen looked expectantly at Katarina and jerked his head toward the young man; she rolled her eyes.

"We're going to get something to eat," she stated through gritted teeth. "Can you pull us some books about illusory magic while we're gone?"

The summoner perked up significantly, a shy smile on his mousy face. "I can do that!" he exclaimed, and hopped down from his stool to dash into the stacks.

"I'm so proud," Garen claimed, wiping an invisible tear from his eye as they made their way back up the stairwell into the hall.

"Shut up, idiot," Katarina hissed. "I should punch you for making me act all...soft."

Her threat elicited a hearty laugh from the Demacian. "In the words of someone I know, I didn't make you do jack-shit!" He poked her side and added, "I didn't say you had to be nice, I just wanted you to talk to him."

The scowl on her face deepened momentarily as she swatted at his offending hand. "I don't see how you're so cheerful considering what we just learned."

"I think," he began slowly after a moment of contemplation, "that when you're down, I want to be there to carry you." A light blush spread across his cheeks when Katarina gave him a look of disbelief, and he realized how overly sentimental that sounded. "I mean, we're like teammates and teammates...um, it'd be pathetic if we were both upset-"

"I get it," the Noxian interrupted, her own face pink with embarrassment "It's not that I... don't agree," she continued, her voice lowering even further as they entered the cafeteria, "but we're in the Institute of War..."

"Right, right," Garen said quickly. He knew what she was saying; they both needed to be careful about how they worded things, or someone might get the wrong idea.

"Garen!"

Both Garen and Katarina turned and he was surprised to see his sister bounding toward him from the entrance they'd just come through. The light mage gave him a hard embrace and, when she stepped back, an expression of understanding alighted on her face as she took note of the woman standing beside him. "You must be Katarina DuCouteau," the blonde said with a disarming smile.

"Got a problem with that?" the assassin smirked.

Lux chuckled and Garen quickly interjected, "Katarina, this is my sister Lux. Luxanna, this is Katarina DuCouteau." The red-head visibly relaxed after Garen's introduction and nodded in recognition at the mage. Garen shot his sister a warning glare, which she disregarded completely.

"The Noxian assassin," she stated, giving her brother a devious grin. "I've heard a lot about you. From Garen."

Katarina glanced between the two, caught between looking puzzled and angry. "What kind of things?"

"_Nothing_," Garen replied forcefully, smile strained.

Before the assassin could say anything else, Luxanna exclaimed, "Let me buy you two lunch! We can sit and talk together!" Garen and Katarina exchanged slightly disturbed glances but complied, following the mage into the food line. With sandwiches in hand, the three sat in a secluded corner of the cafeteria so they could make sure no one got close enough to overhear them.

"So, what are you doing here?" Lux asked through a mouthful of bread and meat, causing Garen to wince; clearly his sister's early entry into the military caused her to neglect such things as table manners.

"We're researching a Champion who is involved in the mess with Relivash," Katarina responded between bites.

"Which Champion," the mage questioned curiously. "Maybe I can help!"

The Noxian looked to Garen, who hesitated, wondering whether or not to bring his sister into their potentially dangerous investigation. "Her name is LeBlanc," he said finally; Lux wasn't a child anymore, and they could use the extra brain power.

"Oh, her," the blonde replied in a timid voice. "I've fought against her in lane during some League matches before. She's..." Lux trailed off, a small tremor passing through her shoulders.

"She's what?" Katarina pressed, leaning forward onto the table in interest.

Lux's blue eyes drifted toward the ceiling as she tried to think of the appropriate words to describe the Champion in question. "Well, as far as her personality, she seems...like a cat."

Lux was met with blank stares. "Could you elaborate?" Garen asked after he realized his sister wasn't going to follow-up that statement with any sort of explanation.

"Oh, cats are really selfish, right?" the mage clarified. "She's like that. Arrogant and detached, like we're all just mice for her to play with, even her teammates. I've heard her giving directions on the Fields and easily sacrificing allies if it gives her something."

"And people think _I'm_ a sociopath," Katarina muttered under her breath as she sat back in her chair.

Lux giggled, "No, you're just fierce." Garen sighed; he honestly wasn't sure if Lux had always had such a...peculiar way of thinking, but it seemed that sort of thing went hand in hand with brilliance. Katarina simply let out a short laugh.

"Well, we should get back to work while we can," the assassin stated as she rose from table, shoving the last bite of food into her mouth. "I'm surprised we haven't been summoned for a match yet since coming here, actually."

"Now that you mentioned it, you're going to get summoned," Lux claimed as the three walked toward the cafeteria's exit. "That's just how it works." Briefly she wrapped her thin arms around her brother and gave the Noxian a small wave, and, almost grinning from ear to ear, whispered, "Don't you two do anything I wouldn't do!" before sprinting away down the hall laughing.

Garen covered his face in one of his massive hands while Katarina hissed, "What have you told her?!"

"Nothing like that!" he cried in defense, taking off down the hall at a brisk pace to avoid the assassin's glare. "She's just being silly!"

He could see her from the corner of his eye, flushed and angry with a touch of worry, as she sighed, "I hope so."

"Besides," he added, his voice back down to a low mumble, "Lux wouldn't say anything if she did know. She's even more disenchanted by the state of affairs in Demacia than I am."

Katarina nodded, but Garen could tell she didn't quite believe him, understandably so, he rationalized; she didn't know Lux like he did. Silently they made their way back to the library desk, where Octavius once again sat, but this time surrounded by a small fortress of books.

"Oh, hi!" he smiled as he peered over the tops of the stacks. "I found some books."

* * *

Between being summoned for the occasional match and reading what they hoped was useful information about the type of magic LeBlanc specialized in, the next three days flew by for Garen and Katarina. Only once were they were in the same match on opposing teams, so the commander did his best to avoid her, and judging by how little he saw her in the first twenty minutes of the fight, he felt better to know she'd done the same.

It was into the evening of the third day since their arrival at the Institute when they heard that Relivash and Farnsley had finally been arrested. The former High Councilor seemed to vanish after Jarvan made his speech, but the other two Councilor's authorized a search of his personal quarters, which turned up evidence to confirm his activity. Katarina had been especially delighted when she heard it was Talon who tracked them down outside of Noxus and gave them over to the League. "Good to know he's still working with us!" she laughed.

But now Garen was sitting alone in a secluded part of the archives, his head resting against the open pages of a book about casting and breaking illusions. Katarina was fighting in a match and he was _bored_. Perhaps if he laid on the book long enough, the information would magically fill his brain.

Approaching footsteps made the commander snap up in hopes of Katarina's return, only to be confused as a bespectacled woman in a tight leather ensemble and carrying a giant crossbow strapped across her back, pulled out a chair and sat down across from him.

"No wonder half of Demacia is flooded with poverty and crime," she sneered in a raspy voice. "Those officially in charge of its protection sleep on the job."

Little red flags erupted in his mind as Garen bristled at the woman's accusations. "Who are you," he growled.

The woman laughed, "If you play your cards right, I can be your ally, Garen Crownguard."

"What do you want?" he asked guardedly. It wasn't the first time he'd been approached by someone who seemed to know him, and he knew he was at a serious disadvantage by not knowing at least the names and faces of the League Champions.

Her answer was blunt. "Why are you looking into the Black Rose?"

It took all his effort to keep a mask of stoicism. Why was _she_ interested in the Black Rose? She said she could be his ally, but what if she was working with LeBlanc and wanted him to join? Gods, it would help if he knew who she was.

"Keep me waiting and I will assume you're a liar and an enemy," she warned.

His eyes narrowed and he replied, "The Black Rose has been overlooked in recent events."

A wicked smile twisted the woman's face. "That it has. Do you plan to bring it to surface or make sure it remains unnoticed?"

Reaching behind his head for the hilt of his sword, Garen swore, "They will be brought to justice."

"Then stand down," she said instantly, waving her hand at him. "I too wish to bring down the Black Rose and its evasive leader." Garen dropped his hand to his side but he was not comfortable with her in the slightest.

"You may call me Vayne," the woman stated, her deep voice full of command. "I make it my business to get rid of those who use black magic."

The Demacian suddenly recalled a note from the file left by Katarina's father, a secret message passed in the Journal of Justice warning LeBlanc about Vayne. Following the newspaper clipping Marcus had included a short description of Vayne, the Night Hunter, and he knew her title from reports by the Demacian Guard.

"I've heard of you," he said warily. "You're the vigilante Night Hunter of Demacia."

"I prefer to think of my work as stepping in where you and your men failed," she smirked. "But I'm not here to discuss the politics of our _esteemed_ city-state with you. What have you learned about LeBlanc?"

He hesitated initially, but quickly realized that the Night Hunter likely knew even more than he. It was part of her claim to fame, that she knew everything about her targets. Starting from the beginning he told her what he had learned, but left out Katarina's extensive involvement in the process; if Vayne hadn't looked into the Noxian, he didn't want to be the one to give her the reason to do so.

"I'm impressed by what you have been able to learn," Vayne commended, to his surprise. "I had no hard evidence that would convince Nasus to let me see her Judgement. An entity passed along in the crystal...very interesting. I might have never guessed that to be the source of her apparent immortality."

Garen wanted to cry in triumph until she asked, "How did you manage to sneak into her personal office without being seen or heard?"

"I'm... very quiet with no armor on outside of the Institute.," he lied, pulse quickening. Vayne frowned and was about to respond when rapidly approaching footsteps cut her short.

"Garen, I have bad-" Katarina stopped short as she rounded the corner and saw Vayne sitting across from the Demacian.

Vayne practically purred, "Ah, now that makes sense."

"What are you doing here?" Katarina snarled at the other woman, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Temper," the Night Hunter chided. "I'm just having a friendly chat with Mr. Crownguard. But I wonder why a Noxian would be consorting with a Demacian. Don't you think that's a better question?"

Garen intervened quickly before they were at each other's throats. "Vayne is also looking to bring down LeBlanc and she's been tracking her for a while. We were exchanging information."

"Pft, we don't need help from this sorry excuse for an assassin," Katarina snapped.

"Oh, I'm the bad assassin am I?" Vayne scoffed. "Remind me which one of us has a scar that resulted from a failed assassination?"

Garen jumped from his seat to grab Katarina's arm as she leapt at the sitting woman. "It wasn't failed," she spat. "And real professionals can get close to their targets; I don't have to hide behind a long-ranged weapon!"

The Night Hunter clicked her tongue and rose from her seat. "I don't have time to argue with a child. I'll keep in touch with you Garen," she said, pointedly ignoring the woman in his grasp. "Until then, be on guard. LeBlanc is always watching." With those words, she paced off into the library.

"Egotistical cunt," Katarina swore. Garen pulled her against his chest, wrapping his arms all the way around her form, and gradually she slumped against him.

"How are you acquainted?" he questioned.

"I've had to fight with and against her more often than I'd have liked on the Fields of Justice," she mumbled.

"If it makes you feel better," he offered, slowly releasing his hold on her, "we had more information than she did."

Katarina snorted, "It does actually," and offered him a sheepish grin. Tentatively, she reached for his hand and gave it a short squeeze, mumbling, "Thanks."

The commander cleared his throat, ignoring the sudden weakness in his legs at her show of affection; he was certain that she would always have that effect on his poor knees. "What were you going to say before?"

Immediately the assassin's face fell. "Oh, yeah. I had a message from Talon waiting for me when I got back from my match," she started, sitting down on the edge of the chair. "Swain is making his move. In a couple of days he'll challenge Keiran Darkwill for the title of Grand General, and I have no doubts that he'll win." His heart clenched at the sight of defeat in her eyes. "Even though we uncovered this thing with the League I couldn't stop him... that bastard..."

"Hey," Garen whispered, kneeling in front of her. "It's not over yet. I swear to you, I will do everything I can to help you get rid of him."

The woman frowned, "It just seems like I've barely done anything. It took me so long to figure out all this stuff and he was able to rise all the way to the top in the same time."

"Swain and LeBlanc have planned this for years, probably since we were just kids," Garen reasoned, gently putting a hand on her knee . "We couldn't have known, so all that matters now is that we are doing what we can to prepare." He admired the fierce face Katarina put on in light of the things she had to contend with, but he liked it more when she was honest because he knew it was only with him.

The assassin nodded slowly, then took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. "I'm going to watch the duel. I have to. And I haven't been home in so long. Depending on what Swain does when he gets control, this might be the last time in a long time I can go home at all."

The Demacian gave her a small smile as he got to his feet and began to stack books. "I hope it goes well then. But you know," he said softly, "you're always welcome to stay with me."

With a grin, Katarina joked weakly, "And your mother? No thanks." They shared a laugh at Lilia's expense as they walked through the winding shelves, each carrying a stack of books. "But...I'll definitely keep it in mind," she whispered.

He couldn't help but smile.

* * *

"How long do you think you'll be gone?" Garen questioned. He sat on the edge of his bed, a towel wrapped around his waist his only cover. The woman he addressed stood in front of him, strapping her knives back onto the pants she'd just pulled up her legs.

"Counting the time it takes to get back, and the things I need to take care of around the house," Katarina paused to consider as she shrugged her cropped jacket over her arms, "probably a week to a week and a half."

The commander collapsed back into the bed, letting out a sigh. "Too long."

The assassin picked up a pillow from the floor and lobbed it at his face, laughing, "Don't give me that mushy crap!" He grinned and hurled it back, though she easily side-stepped the projectile.

"Can you blame me?" he teased.

Katarina padded over to the bed and crawled on top of him."No, I'm pretty awesome," she smirked, leaning over to brush a kiss against his lips before she added, "I might be able to get back to the League sooner, but no promises."

Garen nodded and sat up as she slid off his lap to put on her boots. "Just do what you need to do," he affirmed. "No matter how long it takes. I'll leave you a message if I leave."

"Ok, sounds like a plan," she grinned, picking up her pack. "I coerced a summoner into teleporting me to Noxus, so that already saves a couple of days."

"I wish they could do that all the time," he sighed.

"You and me both." The red-head hesitated a moment before reaching out her hand to the commander. "I'll see you later?"

Taking her hand, he rose and embraced her, saying confidently, "Definitely. I'll see you soon." Katarina slowly backed out of his arms and walked to the door, sparing him a wistful look before steeling her face and heading out to Noxus.

* * *

"High Councilor Kolminye, what an pleasant surprise."

Vessaria Kolminye inclined her head in greeting. "Thank you for seeing me, Your highness."

Jarvan III motioned the summoner forward. "What brings you here today?"

A frown twisted Vessaria's striking face as she replied, "I'm afraid I have troubling news, so I shall be direct. As you know, when Champions of the League fight on the Fields of Justice, there is a certain degree of mind melding that occurs between the Champion and the summoner."

"Yes," the king conceded, his own brow furrowing. "Such matters remain confidential, correct?"

"Absolutely," she assured. "I have never had reason to consider breaking this confidentiality until now." Jarvan remained silent, but motioned for her to continue.

"With the League in such a state of weakness in light of Relivash's corruption, there is a fine balance that must be kept in order to prevent Valoran from falling into chaos and war once again," she explained. "And due to the mind melding it has come to my attention that one of your Champions is planning on taking advantage of the state of affairs for their personal gain. In the interest of preventing what could become another Rune War, I thought it best to take care of the matter early and discreetly."

Jarvan III's impassive face immediately took on a disturbed expression. "These are serious allegations, Vessaria. Are you certain?"

The summoner hung her head. "Unfortunately, I am."

"Who is the Champion?"

* * *

Only a few hours had passed since Katarina's departure when a summoner knocked on Garen's door, waking from his nap. They knocked two more times impatiently before he finally answered.

"Urgent message for you, sir," the summoner, a teenage girl, squeaked as she thrust a folded paper into his hands. "You're to report to the summoning platform right away."

Opening the note, it was simply written: _Report to Demacia immediately. _"Who's this from," he queried.

"It's from King Jarvan Lightshield III by way of High Councilor Vessaria," she replied. "I'm to wait here until you're ready."

Scratching his head in confusion, he shut the door and got dressed and equipped as quickly as he could. Taking a piece of stationery from the nightstand, Garen quickly wrote:

_17 May 22 CLE_

_Katarina,_

_I got summoned to Demacia, but I'm not sure why. It seems urgent though. I'm not sure how long I'll be gone now and I know you won't read this for a while, but I'll send a message here when I figure out what's going on. _

_Garen_

After folding it and writing her name on the outside, the Demacian gathered his things and joined the the waiting summoner, who jumped up from the floor as he exited.

"Follow me," she said. After taking a brief detour to the mail room so he could leave his message for Katarina, the commander trotted behind the girl down the hall to the other side of the Institute into the area which housed the summoning platforms. From there, Champions deployed into the fields of Justice, but, as with Katarina, he knew they could send a person anywhere in continental Valoran.

He handed off his room key to the girl and went to stand on the glowing blue area, feeling a familiar buzz of energy. Two summoners with hoods drawn positioned themselves on either side of the platform and stretched out their hands, a ball of energy forming between their palms.

The buzz increased and Garen closed his eyes as the light engulfed him. When the feeling subsided, he opened them to see that he was in the King of Demacia's receiving room.

And encircled by his fellow guards.

"Commander Garen Crownguard," Jarvan III's voice rang out.

Garen looked in confusion over his soldiers to the king sitting across the room. "Yes, your majesty?"

"By my command, you are hereby under arrest." The soldiers around him seized his arms, another relieving him of his sword. "You will be detained in Demacia until further investigation can be conducted."

Garen could have easily fought off the few soldiers who had a hold of him, but not his whole contingent. He stayed still, trying to appear calm although his heart was hammering inside his chest. "On what charges?" he asked, unable to keep the slight panic from his voice.

Jarvan III sighed and shook his head, but met Garen's distressed gaze with a hard stare.

"Treason."

* * *

LeBlanc sank wearily into the plush chair behind the desk in her new office. Using her distortion ability over such a long distance was exceptionally exhausting, but it had to be done to keep up appearances.

Her gray eyes flicked over the still unfamiliar room and finally settled on the one item she took with her no matter what: her magnificent golden mirror. It was something passed down by each LeBlanc, an item of comfort from the very first, the true, LeBlanc.

She allowed herself a small, triumphant smile as she looked into it, Vessaria's sharp face grinning back at her.

It had been no easy task to put the powerful Councilor out of commission, but that was part of what made her position now so very sweet; she was now the most powerful person in all of Valoran.

With Swain cooperating as the soon-to-be Grand General of Noxus, and Demacia about to rip itself to shreds, it would be simple for them to keep the other city-states under control.

It was her birthright, to have dominion over all, and she was determined to claim it.


	9. The Consequences of Choice

_Ah, my boyfriend recently had to do a polygraph test for a job interview, and he gave me the idea of using it in the story. I hope it turns out well! It's pretty much a completely inaccurate replica of the actual process because the real thing is insanely boring and lengthy, haha. Plus, realistically they're not so reliable but I thought in Valoran they could probably make a good one, lol! And, Garen would suck at lying. Anders is a character we made up and created a backstory for during a traffic jam, so, there's a fun little tidbit for you. Ah what else...Sorry it's kinda short. I wanted to go into Katarina's stuff but I think adding it into this would make it waaaay too long so now there will just be two awkward length chapters. Ok! Here ya go. _

* * *

_The Consequences of Choice_

* * *

The stone grey walls of his holding cell offered no consolation as he laid on his cot, waiting for when they would come back for him. He wanted to scream and fight when they'd stripped him of his possessions, but the only thing he'd managed to do was keep his hands from shaking as he removed the comforting weight of his armor; all he had left was his undershirt, trousers, socks, and the heavy feelings of vulnerability and shame.

The longer he waited, the angrier he became. Angry at himself, angry at Demacia. He'd been warned, and had no one to blame for his situation but himself. Being around Katarina, Jarvan, and Lux, he became accustomed to tolerance, so much so that he forgot the world at large was not making the same progressive changes. Even as he stared at the ceiling of his cell, he could hardly believe Demacia was so backwards that they were going to punish him to the full extent of the law.

"I have a hard time believing you would commit treason, commander," came the Vanguard's first captain's voice from outside the cell, startling Garen from his black cloud.

Garen propped himself up to consider his first captain, a man named Anders, who was standing as guard outside his cell and looking expectantly at his former leader. Ander's was a good soldier, incredibly loyal to the Vanguard, so the commander was inclined to disbelieve his claim. "Is that so?" he muttered sarcastically, rolling onto his back.

"It is," the captain insisted. "I've known you long enough to know you're not the type to betray people who trust him."

"Well someone obviously thinks I am," he snapped.

Anders turned away without a reply, and Garen thought the captain was going to drop the subject until a few minutes later he asked, "Why would they think that?"

Garen wanted to scream in frustration, and growled, "Leave me alone, Anders. It doesn't matter now."

But the captain was persistent, and pressed, "Was it was because you worked with the assassin? The one I tried to attack during Jarvan's speech."

The commander was silent for several minutes, brooding over his captain's astute observation until the anger drained out of his chest, leaving him with only a feeling of weariness. "Yes," he replied softly, the hard edge gone from his tone.

Seemingly satisfied, Anders finally stayed quiet, and Garen returned to agonizing about what would happen next. How had the King arrived at the conclusion of treason, and why wouldn't he have confronted him privately? He might have gone past the line of propriety, but he would never betray Demacia in a manner befitting that charge. It didn't make sense, and Garen was intensely worried about what would happen if he was somehow convicted; the system seemed broken, and he wasn't sure it would see him through this.

Minutes ticked by, then hours, tortuously slow, until nearly five hours had passed when a unit of the Elite Guard returned to escort him into the interrogation room. Garen contemplated trying to fight his way out and run, but the thought was quickly banished. Running and fighting would only show guilt, and the guards quickly clapped cuffs over his wrists which produced a dampening effect similar to that of the Institute of War, taking the option from him.

"We'll have to cover your face," one of the soldiers timidly informed him. "So no one knows."

Garen stayed mute, shooting a glare to the soldier. Even as they were about to interrogate the commander of the Vanguard, they were concerned about appearances. The last thing he saw before a thick sack was hastily thrown over his head, was Anders' grim face as he said, "Everything is going to get cleared up."

The cloth was coarse on his face and the ground cold underneath his socked feet as he stumbled along between the guards. The commander knew exactly where they were going, a room beneath the castle favored for interrogation and torture situations, and wondered which method he would be lucky enough to experience.

Doors opened and closed, stairs passed under his feet, until finally the sack was taken off his face. There were no restraints or buckets of water waiting, though, simply a round table, four chairs, a stack of papers, and an innocent looking machine he'd never seen before.

"Have a seat, Mr. Crownguard," came a voice from behind him. Two summoners stood against the back wall and in front of them, the man who had spoken, small wiry figure whose outfit was the clean whites and yellows of a Piltover scientist. On one breast pocket was stitched the surname Kirkham.

Warily, Garen sat in the chair the man indicated, placing his cuffed hands in his lap, and looked around as the others sat. In the wall across from the commander was the door to the adjacent room and a large mirror that he knew was two-directional. He narrowed his eyes at whoever was watching.

"So, Garen, you might be wondering what this little machine does!" the Mr. Kirkham started, although he didn't pause to gather the commander's reaction. "It's a new technology we just finished in Piltover for detecting lies!" The man went on to explain that it was developed at the Sheriff's behest, how it worked, and that they'd expedited it to Demacia at Jarvan's request just for him, but Garen had stopped listening right after "detecting lies."

Inwardly he was panicking. All of his fears about having his mind read were resurfacing and it brought him back to wondering what exactly it was they knew, and what they thought he did. He almost preferred waterboarding.

"So, we're going to connect these sensors to different areas of your body. They detect changes in pulse, temperature, perspiration, and respiration and send a signal to the machine which graphs any changes.

"I'll be reading the graph output, and Summoner Alexander here will be asking you the questions. The sensors also allow a Summoner to access your mind like the mind meld in the League of Legends, so that will be Summoner Starke's role if the lie detector shows you're lying. The King respects you as a person and we don't want to have to force the truth from you, so answer truthfully."

Another wave of fear gripped the commander and he tensed in his seat. Apparently this thing made it possible for them to literally read his thoughts? He might as well confess everything now.

"Is there anything you want to tell us now before we start?" Summoner Alexander asked, his voice monotone. "Remember, it is absolutely essential that you tell the truth."

Glancing over to the mirror, Garen didn't hesitate to reply, somewhat shakily, "I'm not a traitor." Inside, he was terrified; this was likely the end of his career and everything he knew. But if they were going to punish him for what he _had_ done, they would at least know they were wrong to accuse him of treason.

Alexander sniffed, "We'll see about that," and motioned for Kirkham to start attaching the sensors. The sensors were small, rubbery discs which the scientist stuck to his skin with an adhesive ribbon: one on each of his temples, one on his neck, four on his chest, and one on his right index finger. Each disc had a wire protruding from it that connected it to the lie detector, a sight that might have made the commander laugh if the situation were not so grave.

"I'm going to start by asking you four control questions," Summoner Alexander stated once Kirkham indicated that everything was ready. "Answer the first two truthfully but lie purposefully on the last two. Understand?" Garen swallowed and nodded.

"Is your name Garen Crownguard?"

"Um...yes."

"Are you sitting down?"

"Yes?"

"Are the lights on in this room?"

"Y-no. No." He cursed inwardly; he couldn't even lie about simple things.

The summoner raised an eyebrow but continued, "Is this table round?"

"No."

Kirkham gave a thumbs up to Alexander, saying, "So far so good. It's reading the lies."

Garen couldn't understand how it could possibly be picking up any difference between his answers since he felt the same amount of trepidation with each question.

"We'll move on then with a few more control questions," Alexander said, acknowledging the scientist. "It's important to tell the truth on every single one. The first two will be irrelevant but it is still important to be completely honest. First question: Are you wearing a white shirt?"

"Yes."

"Are there four chairs in this room?"

"Yes."

"Have you ever made a mistake in your life?"

Garen warily regarded the summoner, whose face remained impassive. "Yes."

"Have you ever stolen anything?" Alexander was relentlessly monotone.

"Yes."

"Have you ever lied to a person in a position of authority?"

"...Yes." Even though the questions required a simple yes or no, Garen was growing progressively more anxious, wondering what purpose the questions really served.

On the other hand, the Piltover scientist was all smiles. "Everything's going great! Now let's really test her out!"

The commander shot a glance at the mirror, then to the other summoner, who slouched quietly in the chair, his hood over his face. As he watched Garen squirm, the faintest hint of a smile twitched on Alexander's face. Clearly, he enjoyed his job. Looking down at his papers, he said, "Pressing on, then. Were you part of the investigation of the League headed by Jarvan IV?"

"Yes."

"You willingly co-operated with the known Noxian assassin Katarina DuCouteau?"

His heartbeat quickened though he willed it to stop. "I...yes." It wasn't fair! he wanted to shout. Jarvan worked with her too! Kirkham motioned to Alexander, who nodded.

"We'd like to know more about that. And don't forget, we will know if you lie." Never had a monotone voice sounded so sinister to Garen. "Did Katarina DuCouteau have her own agenda during the investigation?"

Garen frowned and replied, "Yes, she's looking for her father."

Alexander flipped through his papers until he found what he was looking for and asked, "Her father is the former Noxian General Marcus DuCouteau?"

"Yes."

"Did you ever assist her in achieving her personal agenda?"

"...Yes," he ground out slowly. "It coincided with the information Jarvan wanted to find." He could see where they were going and he refused to let his "yes" be misconstrued.

Right as Alexander started to ask the next question, they heard a few shouts preceding the main door being flung open and slammed against the back wall, causing everyone in the room to jump.

"Stop this right now!" Jarvan commanded, shrugging off the grasping hands of the soldiers outside who failed to keep him from entering. "I can personally vouch for Garen!"

Garen leapt up, almost pulling the machine from the table, exclaiming,"Jarvan! Don't-

"It's ok, Garen," the prince interrupted. "Look, my father knows everything that's been going on so I don't know who ordered this stupid investigation but it needs to stop!"

As he spoke, the door to the adjacent room creaked open. "Son, you need to stand down."

Both Jarvan and Garen stared in shock as King Jarvan III entered from the room behind the mirror. Garen hadn't anticipated the King actually taking the time to watch his interrogation.

"I ordered this," Jarvan III explained, "because it seems I _wasn't _told everything." A chill went through the room as the full weight of his words registered to the prince, who directed a dismayed look to Garen. The commander looked away guiltily.

The king's expression was grim as he watched the wordless exchange between the two men and continued, "But since you seem to know so much, son, why don't you wait around so we can find out what you else you've keeping from your king."

"Sir! Jarvan has nothing to do with this!" Garen cried, appalled that the king would even suspect his own son.

Jarvan III considered Garen's words for a moment and the commander was hopeful that he would reconsider, but his words came as a shock. "What you just said tells me that there _is _something going on, and I will know the manner of your activity." Turning his gaze to the stunned prince, he finished, "Anyone involved will be questioned, even you, Jarvan. Why don't you follow me?"

Jarvan IV met eyes with Garen long enough to receive his friend's remorseful look, although the commander knew no apology would ever suffice. Garen was not surprised when Jarvan grimaced and looked away, following his father into the neighboring room.

"Fuck," the commander swore under his breath as he collapsed back into his seat.

"Are we quite finished?" Summoner Alexander asked impatiently, only to receive a withering glare from the commander. Summoner Starke was as quiet as ever, and the scientist Kirkham quickly checked the wires and sensors attached to Garen before giving the go ahead to the summoner.

"Where were we?" he murmured, looking over the papers. "Ah, right, Miss DuCouteau. Did the nature of your relationship with the Noxian assassin ever entail more than searching for the information Prince Jarvan IV requested?"

Perhaps a little too quickly, Garen replied, "No."

Kirkham shook his head at the Alexander, who derided the commander. "What did I say about the importance of telling the truth? I'll ask again: Did your dealings with Katarina DuCouteau involve anything outside the realm of Jarvan's investigation?"

"No!"

"Sorry Mr. Crownguard," Kirkham stated, "but the reading is coming up as a lie. Summoner Starke?"

The summoner in question dragged his chair next to Garen's, and, pressing his cold fingertips over the sensor on Garen's temple, nodded to Alexander.

"Did your dealings with Katarina DuCouteau involve anything outside the realm of Jarvan's investigation?" The commander knew it was futile, but he had to try.

"No." Garen gritted his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut as he felt Starke's violating presence start to peel away at his thoughts. Desperately, he thought of fighting and Lux and his childhood, anything to keep his mind off _her_. "Get out of my head!"

Abruptly, Starke's hand fell away and for a moment Garen triumphantly thought he'd somehow managed to kick the summoner from his mind. But then he noticed the red flush that was spreading up the summoner's neck and he watched in despair as Starke quietly stated, "It's not the relationship we were thinking it was."

"What do you mean?" Alexander snapped. "Were they conspiring against Demacia or not?"

"I doesn't seem like it, no," the summoner replied, a hint of amusement working its way into his tone.

"I'm not a traitor!" Garen blurted out, earning a glare from Alexander.

"What was the nature of the relationship, Starke?" he asked.

Tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth and lungs suddenly ceasing to produce oxygen, Garen turned in horror to watch the summoner's mouth form the words, "It appears the relationship was...sexual."

Silence filled the room.

Alexander looked hesitantly toward the mirror. There was a short, single tap, so he turned back to the commander, who slumped defeated in his chair, gaze directed to his feet.

"Um...Ok. C-continuing on," the summoner stuttered as he steeled his face back into a neutral expression. "Was the...relationship used for some political gain in some way?"

"No," he whispered.

Alexander looked expectantly to the scientist, who claimed, "Didn't register."

With a frown, the summoner asked again, "Are you conspiring with Katarina DuCouteau to overthrow the Demacian government?"

"No."

Another negative shake from Kirkham resulted in a look of confusion from Alexander. He waved a hand at Starke, who once again probed into the Demacian's mind, this time with no resistance.

"Was there any sort of political benefit to be gained from your relationship with Katarina DuCouteau?"

Garen looked up toward the mirror, to the King who sat behind it, and quietly repeated, "No."

Taking his time, Starke rifled through the images and memories within Garen's mind, until after several minutes of tense silence, he stated, "There nothing there."

The two summoners and the scientist glanced uncertainly to the mirror, and this time, Jarvan III stepped into the room.

"Why would you do it, then?" he questioned. "You were the face of Demacian ethic."

Blood rose to Garen's face, anger and frustration burning hot in his eyes. "I don't know!"

The King regarded the commander, his face a mixture of disappointment and anger. Finally he murmured, "Is there anyone who knew about your... regretful decision to betray the morals of Demacia through this relationship?"

He tried to remain level, but Garen's breath hitched for a split second before he lied, "No."

Without prompting, Summoner Starke shot unexpectedly into the commander's thoughts where he probed for a moment before saying, "To an extent, the Prince, and a woman, blonde hair, blue eyes. His...sister? Others might speculate but he isn't sure."

Narrowing his eyes at the upset commander, Jarvan III hissed, "You would convince my son and Luxanna into going along with your traitorous activity?"

"Katarina doesn't care about Demacia!" the commander shouted, surprising everyone in the room. "She just wants to find her father!" The summoners and the Piltover scientist inched away from the two Demacian's while Jarvan IV moved to watch from the doorway, several soldiers at his back.

A furious redness was beginning to advance across the King's face as he raised his voice. "Fool! Why would you believe anything a Noxian says!? Clearly she has you tricked into think-"

"You don't know her!" Garen interrupted, rising to his feet. The scientist grabbed his machine as it skidded across the table, resulting in several of the sensors being pulled off of Garen's body.

The commander knew he should stop, no one could speak to the King like that, but the words spilled out as the frustration he'd been holding in exploded from his chest. "She's honest and good and not like anything you've ever told me about Noxians! She's not a threat to you! I'm...I'm a better person for knowing her, better than I ever would have become just by mindlessly believing everything the military has ever told me! We...I wasn't hurting anyone by being with her!"

Throughout Garen's tirade, Jarvan III's said nothing, until the angry soldier paused, finally noticing the cold expression that had fixed itself upon the King's face, and he knew he'd gone too far.

"Have Luxanna Crownguard summoned immediately from the League of Legends," he suddenly commanded the two summoners who were standing as quietly as possible in the corner. "I will show you who you hurt when you betray your nation."

"Don't!" Garen cried, struggling against the three soldiers who rushed him after he took a step toward Jarvan III. "Lux...she-NO! She didn't do anything! Leave her out of this!"

The King turned, no hint of apology on his face, and stated, "I'm sorry, Garen," before pushing past Jarvan IV and returning to the room behind the mirror, shutting the door behind them. It took the soldiers a minute before they could subdue the commander long enough to adjust his cuffs, now binding him to the chair by his hands and feet. Quickly Kirkham detached the rest of the wires from the seething Demacian, before retreating into the adjacent room and leaving the commander alone.

He struggled against the metallic cuffs uselessly for a few minutes before giving up with a low growl of resentment. Not since he was a child had Garen wanted to cry as badly as he did then, knowing that he had failed so completely. But they weren't going to have that satisfaction; he wouldn't break...

Lux was never as prompt as Garen, perhaps as her own form of rebellion, so it was nearly an hour before the door opened and the woman walked in, her head high and arms behind her bound in glowing cuffs. Seeing her brother, she simply said, "Hey," as the soldiers sat her in the chair next to his.

It was too much, to see his little sister poised so dignified in the terrible position in which he'd unintentionally forced her. "Lux, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I never thought..."

"Garen, it's going to be ok," she assured with a smile. "It'll be ok."

"Luxanna Crownguard," came the King's interrupting voice. "As you might have guessed, we are going to ask you some questions regarding your brother's illicit relationship and your role in them."

"Let me save you the trouble," she declared, her beautiful face scrunched in determination.

"Luxanna, don't..." her brother warned, but she continued on as if she didn't notice.

"I don't know the exact details, but yes, I knew my brother and Miss DuCouteau had some kind of romantic relationship. And I didn't tell anyone," she paused, sending her brother a gentle and encouraging smile, "because for the first time in our lives, since the military took us, I could see that my brother was happy. Really happy! And that," she finished, lifting her chin to look in the King's impassive eyes, "is worth more to me than my stupid military career. So punish me however you like."

"Lux..." Garen choked, looking to his sister who had yet to take her blue eyes from the King's face, though they swam with tears.

"I am sorry to hear that Luxanna," Jarvan III replied dispassionately. "You had such a promising future."

"What does any of this matter, father!?" Jarvan IV chimed in, walking into the room. "This is nothing compared to the real threat out there! I told you-"

"Yes, you told me about this Noxian Champion, LeBlanc," the King responded. "I spoke with High Councilor Kolminye about her. She informed me that they were investigating LeBlanc as well, as she had not responded to a League summons in nearly a month. As is often the case with Noxian scum," he added, sending a pointed look to Garen, "Vessaria stated it is highly likely that her involvement in the Noxian underground resulted in her unfortunate death. She is no threat!

The three Champions absorbed the King's words in a stunned silence, Jarvan and Garen especially. All the work they'd done, brought to closure in such a simple statement.

Jarvan III regarded his son, asking, "Is there anything else you feel the need to tell me? You've seen the accuracy of Mr. Kirkham's lie detector." Quickly, Jarvan shook his head, but his father pressed on, "Nothing about the nature of your relationship with that inferior halfling?"

The prince flushed instantly and managed only to stammer, "H-how...? _Why!_"

The King answered his son only with a disgusted expression and a slow shake of his head. "You should know better. I'm temporarily suspending your Champion status for your outright refusal to conduct yourself in a manner that promotes the well-being of Demacia. That...woman, will face suspension, as well as removal from her position in the Elite Guard of Demacia." Jarvan tightened, clenching his fist and jaw, his temper daring him to challenge his father, but fear of what could happen to Shyvana keeping his tongue in check.

The King faced Lux, who stared back wide-eyed fear, and stated, "Luxanna Crownguard, for crimes against Demacia including misprision of petty treason, you are hereby dishonorably discharged from your station as an officer in Special Operations. Your status as a League of Legends Champion of Demacia is suspended indefinitely and you will placed under house arrest pending re-indoctrination into the Demacian Military as an enlisted soldier."

Garen could see his sister struggling to keep a brave face, but tears were already spilling from her eyes onto her red cheeks and, defeated, she hung her head with a quiet sob.

"Garen Crownguard," King Jarvan addressed, finally turning his steely gaze back to Garen, "for crimes against Demacia including fraternization with an enemy agent and petty treason for aiding in the retrieval of another known enemy agent, you are hereby dishonorably discharged from your station as Commander of the Dauntless Vanguard. Furthermore, your status as a Champion of Demacia is permanently revoked, and you shall no longer be affiliated with Demacia in any form. In honor of your previously faithful service, I will keep this charge from the public, but you are never to step foot into Demacian territory, and any infraction of this order will result in a public execution."

Knowing it was coming did not lessen the pain.

All of time stopped. His breathing shallowed, vision narrowed, he couldn't think. There was only the echo of Jarvan's words in his empty chest.

_Dishonorably discharged. Permanently revoked. No longer affiliated with Demacia._

_Dishonorably discharged. Permanently revoked. No longer affiliated with Demacia._

He was aware of his heartbeat, fast, too fast, a slight ringing in his ears. Hands on his arms, lifting him from the chair.

His body felt impossibly heavy but somehow his leaden feet moved, one after the other into the hall. And as the door slammed shut behind him, sound and sight and feeling slammed back into his world with alarming clarity. Lux's muted screams followed him down the hall and he could feel the weight of the soldier's stares on the back of his neck while they escorted him up the stairs.

Garen tried to struggle from their grasp, but uncoordinated and bound, he stumbled and had to be pulled upright before he hit the ground. Mixed expressions greeted him briefly, pity, disbelief, scorn, before his face was covered and he was taken back to his cell to wait for a sufficient cover of darkness, when no citizens would be on the streets.

For a while, he sat completely still, occasionally snapping to attention but quickly returning to a daze. Time continued to pass at a crawl, and it seemed like an eternity although he was in his cell for less than an hour. As his moments of cognizance grew, so did the pain; by the time someone came for him, he thought for sure, death would be better than feeling as miserable as he did.

"Garen?"

The broken man looked up to see Anders standing outside his cell, holding a pair of boots and a bundle of clothes. "What?" he croaked.

Face sympathetic, Anders unlocked the door and crossed the room to sit next to his former commander, removing the cuffs on his hands and feet. "Lady Luxanna gathered some things and asked me to bring them to you," the captain revealed, placing the boots on the floor and the clothes in Garen's arm.

"Isn't that going to get you in trouble?" Garen mumbled, unmoving.

Anders hesitated, then stated softly, "Sir, you're part of the Vanguard. We take care of our own."

A choked laugh slipped from the former commander's throat, but he stood to put on the clothes, a red vest with money in the pocket, a pair of gloves, a belt, and a black jacket he recognized as once belonging to his father. He smirked; what would his mother say when she realized it was gone? "I'm not part of anything anymore, Anders."

"You were always good to us. You might have made a mistake, but you're still a good man," the captain contended, rising as well. There was no need for bonds as they walked out into the warm night together; Anders might be showing him sympathy, but Garen knew he would not hesitate to follow the order to kill if he tried anything.

"The only mistake I made was wanting something Demacia didn't order me to want," Garen muttered bitterly.

Anders promptly replied, "It was a breach of law and the contract you made with the government."

The ex-commander considered the captain with an expression of pity. "The next time someone tells you, you can't have the only thing that's ever made you feel alive and happy, see how long you can hold out before you try and take it anyway."

Neither men said anything for the rest of the time it took to manuever the empty streets to the gate, where Anders finally asked, "Where will you go?"

Garen had been worrying over that detail for the entire walk. "I don't know. Kalamanda maybe, for now."

Anders nodded, pausing for a moment before snapping into a salute. "I'm sorry, sir. I wish things could be different."

Saluting in return, the stateless man replied, "Me too. Thanks, Anders," before turning away from the city-state he once called home.

Kalamanda was only a short-term option and he knew it. How long could he make the money Lux slipped him last? His heart tightened painfully; Gods, Lux. That had been a cruel punishment, forcing her to rejoin the entity she hated at the lowest level. It was his fault, he should never had said anything to her...

He quickly pushed the thought away. It wouldn't do him any good to break down here if he wanted to get out of Demacian territory by morning. Instead, he forced himself to consider the logistics of a new life. Perhaps he could travel Valoran, taking on odd jobs for money and lodging. At least the military had given him the survival skills to live on the land.

And inevitably, his thoughts were drawn to Katarina. How, he wondered, would she react? It seemed like an entire lifetime had passed since he talked to her, even though it had only been that morning that they'd gone their separate ways. It would be another week before she even knew he'd gone to Demacia, and he sure as hell wasn't going to Noxus.

Fuck, how would he even see her again?

He'd been walking for several hours along the outskirts of the Marshes of Kaladoun and finally he saw the last trickle of the Serpentine River's west fork where it fed into the marsh. With a heavy feeling of trepidation, he stopped to stare into the black stream; once he crossed it, he would have officially passed the boundaries of Demacia.

On shaking legs, he slowly took a step, then another, letting out a soft sigh that seemed to carry with it the weight of an entire lifetime. This chapter of his life was over, whether he wanted it to be or not. Numbly, he walked until the stream was out sight, eventually staggering to a halt against a tree.

Garen collapsed on the ground with a low sob. For the first time in twenty years, tears rolled down his cheeks until finally, exhaustion took him into a troubled sleep.


	10. When Things Fall Apart

_First off, thanks are in order to the following summoners: Theamp4, AerithRayne, and CakeandBacon from the LoL forums, and Dreaded Rasengan from and Tsunami State from for being all around amazing people, giving me awesome ideas, and being so very supportive :) And really, thanks to everyone who has read and reviewed or followed or faved or anything! I try to reply to everyone who reviews but I know I've probably missed a couple here and there, and there are lots of anon reviews, but I appreciate every single person's input :) You guys and gals are the absolute BEST! _

_So, interesting note: I didn't put much thought into the size of Valoran in chapter 3 when I was making up how long it would take to travel from Demacia to Noxus or halfway to the League, so in this chapter out of curiosity, I google mapped it. Turns out, the distance I came up with would be about a meager 125 miles to the League, and 250 miles between the two cities, essentially from one side of Valoran to the other (about the distance from Austin to Sweetwater, for any Texans out there). That'll teach me to make shit up, lol. Ah well, I'm gonna stick with it for the sake of continuity._

_PS: This chapter was a lot longer, but I chopped it for the next chapter. So, chapter 11 should be done pretty quick! There's just too much to address at this one moment in time! =_= I'll finish it up in the next chapter, I promise!_

* * *

_When Things Fall Apart_

* * *

Katarina was able to spend several days relaxing at home before the duel actually took place, and she was grateful for the time with her sister, even though there was an underlying tension over the events that were to occur. To her surprise, even Talon, who usually went about his own business when in Noxus, hung about the house with them, and even if it was only temporary, Katarina felt like they were a normal family.

While the rest of Noxus considered Keiran Darkwill the favorite to win, the three DuCouteau's knew the Master Tactician would win without a problem.

"I don't understand why you two want to watch Swain win," Cassiopeia brooded. "Because he will win, as much as I wish Keiran would run him through."

Talon answered for the both of them, "It's motivation to keep going."

The snake-woman clicked her tongue, but accepted the answer. "Well, go on then," she ordered while she slid up the stairs. "I'll be waiting!"

* * *

"I can't believe this is happening," Katarina muttered under her breath to Talon as they stood in the shadows of the High Command's grand hall. "And I can't help but feel it's my fault."

It was brilliant the way Jericho Swain outsmarted Keiran Darkwill in the duel; the latter was painfully helpless against Swain's magic, and the former was as composed as ever, even after the impressive demonstration of his superior tactics and strength.

"Darius," he called, loud enough for the hushed spectators to hear. "Why don't you evaluate the strength of Keiran Darkwill." There was no hesitation from the hardened soldier; in one swift move, he brought down his axe and with it the sickening sound of Keiran's head hitting the stone floor. The crowds erupted into cheers at the bloody show, and, with Darius at his side, Swain limped over to the appraising members of the High Command.

"There isn't anyone left alive who could oppose Swain now," Talon whispered as each member of the High Command slowly raised their hands. "Darius made sure of that. It's not your fault."

Katarina shook her head as Swain raised his hand that wasn't clutching his cane, rousing a unanimous roar from the crowd: "Blood for Noxus!"

To Katarina's surprise, Talon hissed, "It should have been Marcus in that position," his normally impassive face twisted in irritation. "Swain doesn't deserve these people's respect."

Tentatively, the red-head placed a gloved hand on Talon's arm, causing the assassin to flinch and replace his usual stoic mask. "We will find him," she swore, "and I will personally stab a knife into Swain's throat."

The hooded man flashed a sinister grin and mumbled, "Not if I get to him first," as he turned with Katarina to slip out of the hall. Barely were they outside the entrance when a group of writers from the League of Legends' Journal of Justice who were waiting at the exit, spotted the conspicuous red-head and rushed her. A frustrated glance in Talon's direction revealed that the assassin had already vanished. She sighed.

"Miss Sinister Blade!" the closest one chimed. "What do you have to say about Jericho Swain's coronation as the Grand General of Noxus?"

"Congratulations," she sneered, pushing past, only to have another accost her.

"Rumors abound that Swain might have been involved in Noxus's loss of Kalamanda to the League. What do you say to about those rumors?"

Katarina paused, considering her options. Her popularity hadn't waned yet, but she couldn't just say what she wished about the new Grand General. "_If_ he gave Kalamanda to the League in exchange for power in Noxus, it was a bold move. A strong move," she started slowly. A threatening smile worked it's way onto her lips as she finished, "The strong may rise to power here, but this wouldn't be Noxus if there weren't always others with the strength to challenge them." This time, she flashed away before she could be questioned again.

She meant what she said, and hoped the paper wouldn't change her words. The general population would read it as a statement in support of Swain, and that was fine considering the appearance she needed to maintain. But it was the threat underneath that made her smile as she dashed back to her home. All she needed was the strength to challenge.

* * *

"Can't believe you left me to deal with the Journal of Justice," Katarina pouted, punching Talon in the shoulder. She'd arrived home and followed the sound of her sister's laughter to find Talon and Cassiopeia conversing in the den, a fact which she found amusing; two years ago, Cass went out of her way to make their surrogate brother feel like an outsider in their family. How things changed, in two short years.

"They wouldn't want to talk to Talon anyway," Cassiopeia interjected with a smirk, earning a look from the man. "You're like the face of Noxus, Kat." The last part of the mage's statement held a note of bitterness.

"Whatever," the red-head mumbled, suddenly feeling uncomfortable. She knew her sister, despite her almost unbearably haughty attitude, was still self-conscious about her form. If it were up to Katarina, she would let Cass be the one in limelight in a heartbeat.

"Oh! I just remembered," her sister exclaimed, pushing off the couch she was sprawled out on and sliding across the room, grabbing an envelope from the end table. "You got a letter while you were gone," she said as she tossed the paper to Katarina.

The fighter inspected the envelope but found that it was blank, aside from her name printed neatly in the center, so she curiously ripped it open, Cassiopeia peering over her shoulder.

Her face paled as she read the opening line:

_20 May, 22 CLE_

_Katarina DuCouteau,_

_Welcome back to Noxus. I take it "relationships" with Demacia are going well? It is such a shame that a once-powerful Champion like yourself  
would resort to an alliance with our enemy; what an unfortunate show of weakness. Perhaps we should meet to discuss your future as  
a representative of our city-state. I am not unwilling to negotiate. Tonight at 10, in the High Command lounge, if you would,  
and please note that failure to appear will leave me no choice but assume your guilt. _

_Regards,_

_Jericho Swain_

"What did you do?!" Cassiopeia shrieked as she grabbed Katarina's arm, her clawed fingertips digging into her skin.

"Thanks for the vote of confidence!" the assassin snarled, yanking her arm away but cutting it on her sister's claws in the process. "You know I've only done enough to follow father's trail!"

Talon snatched the letter from her hand and skimmed it, pointing out, "It sounds like it's just because you worked with Jarvan. He said he would negotiate, just say you were gaining his trust for a cleaner assassination or something."

"Swain willing to negotiate?" Cass sneered. "Lies. This is a death sentence!"

Wiping at her bleeding arm, Katarina snapped, "And if I don't go, then what? He'll just say whatever he wants about it anyway! I might as well go and try to kill him!"

"Stop it," Talon interrupted, glowering at the arguing women. "What's done is done. We can only work with what we have now. Isnt' that what Marcus would say?" Each reluctantly grumbled their assent. "Kat has a point," he added. "I can go with her."

"No," the assassin said slowly. "Let me go alone."

Talon let out a short laugh. "That's stupid. You'd die for sure."

"You're both stupid," Cassiopeia muttered. "Get your heads out of your asses and think about it for a second. If any other member of the High Command sent this, I would say just go and kill him, but it's Swain. He's powerful, in command of Noxus, and there's no reason for him to want to negotiate. If he's working with the Black Rose, then you've been nothing but a nuisance to him that he would love to get rid of."

Cassiopeia levelled a paralyzing stare at her sister and finished, "If you go, you will die. He's the Grand General, so he can make up any reason he wants to about why he killed you, probably one that ruins our family and lets him come after me and Talon. Either way, our house is done. You might as well live and try to correct the damage."

Both Katarina and Talon stared mutely, stunned, until the former choked out, "But, I-"

"None of us could have known Swain would rise as fast as he did," the snake-woman interrupted. "And after becoming General it would have only been a matter of time before he made a move against us."

"Oh, so just like that, it's over?!" Katarina cried, her hands bunching into fists at her side. "I refuse to believe this is the only answer!"

Abruptly Talon chimed in, "How did Swain know? You were so careful."

Against her will, Vayne's voice echoed back in Katarina's mind: _LeBlanc is always watching._

"Fuck," she mumbled. "LeBlanc. She must have spies all over the damn place."

"This is getting ridiculous," Cassiopeia said with a shake of her head. "We've got to kill her."

"Wish it were that easy," Talon laughed. "She's harder to find than Marcus." The three joined in a short fit of grim laughter, before a sober mood settled over them.

"What are we going to do? Should we leave?" Cassiopeia whispered, locking eyes with Talon.

"We could stay and kill whoever they send," the man suggested. "It's not like the three of us aren't strong enough."

Cass perked up and added, "And if we killed them all, maybe we'd impress the High Command!"

Katarina considered it, but shook her head. "If Darius and his stupid brother come, we might be able to fight them off, but Cass isn't as mobile as we are. She'd be a sitting target. Besides, if Swain just wants us dead, no amount of attention from the rest of the High Command is going to save us."

Talon shared a frustrated glance with Cassiopeia before concluding, "Then the League would probably be the safest place right now."

The red-head shifted her gaze between her sister and brother, suddenly feeling very tired. As a child, she was presented with many options for the future, and she chose the blade. Would things have turned out differently if she hadn't stubbornly insisted on being an assassin like her father? For all her proficiency in the art of killing, she was helpless to protect her family, to stop Swain, find LeBlanc-

"Kat! Hello!"

Cassiopeia was waving a clawed hand in her face as she snapped back to attention, which she swatted away in mild irritation. "What?"

"What do you mean, what?" her sister proclaimed, crossing her hands across her chest. "We need to get some things together."

Katarina nodded, following her sister upstairs but separating to enter her room. Rarely did she stay at home, as evident by the light coating of dust across everything she owned, but she dutifully searched through her few belongings for things to take.

From the closet she grabbed a few spare sets of pants and tops and changed into a clean set of black clothes after tossing her dirty ones on the floor. The clean ones went into her pack and she turned to survey the rest of her desolate room.

There were various items she'd held onto from her childhood resting atop her dresser: a ragged toy rabbit, the first knife she'd trained with, a picture of her, Cass, and Talon training as awkward adolescents. Despite the situation, Katarina smiled softly; at least she still had those two.

Neatly folded beside the photo and untouched by dust was Garen's jacket, which she'd carried with her all the way from his house to hers. Opening her pack, she shoved the jacket in at the bottom and placed the photo in a side pocket.

There were clothes from parties and political events from years past which she would likely never wear again. Hung along the walls were sixteen daggers from her father, all worn from use, for every birthday she'd celebrated from age eight to the time he disappeared, but they would stay in their places.

Katarina's green eyes stung as she touched the hilt of one of the weapons at her back: The last dagger she'd received from Marcus, and one of the knives at her side, her father's favorite blade she'd recovered from LeBlanc. She quickly turned to leave the room, shutting the door of her old life with a soft click.

* * *

"It's 10:00 General," Darius stated. "What would you like us to do?"

Swain's eyes wrinkled slightly, indicating the sinister smile hidden beneath his collar. "Let's see if we can make her change her mind." Turning to address the small assembly of soldiers in front of him, the General declared in his raspy voice, "Katarina and Cassiopeia DuCouteau and the assassin Talon are now fugitives of Noxus and are to be executed on sight. Move out."

Darius followed his men in saluting before leading them out of the High Command headquarters and toward the House DuCouteau, leaving Swain alone save for the figure standing next to him.

"It's likely they've already fled the city," the Tactician said to the man. "You're to go to the League of Legends to keep an eye on them. Don't let them leave alive. And while you're there, deliver this letter to the Headsman's Pride."

He handed the letter to the figure who stuffed it in his showy belt. He wouldn't do it because Swain asked; he would do it because Katarina had been taking up too much of his precious spotlight around Noxus lately. Idly spinning a double-bladed axe with a subtle flick of his wrist, Draven grinned as he sauntered out of the hall, declaring to himself, "I have the best job."

* * *

The three DuCouteau's were climbing the hill outside the city when they saw the soft glow of a fire flicker in the Ivory Ward. Cassiopeia clutched Katarina's hand and Talon drifted to her side.

"Do you think that's... our house?" the snake-woman whispered, although she knew the answer as well as the others.

"We can't stop until we reach the League," Katarina replied, pulling on her sister to start moving. "Let's go." Silently, she pleaded with whoever was coming to catch up, so she could personally slit every single one of their throats.

True to plan, they did not rest for more than an hour or two at a time, and recklessly charged forward with no care for stealth, as the sound of Cassiopeia's scales along the ground could not be muted. Although she was generally ashamed about her half-animal state, Cass modestly announced that she would be the best to stand guard when they absolutely had to stop, explaining that she was especially sensitive to vibrations in the ground. Katarina couldn't help but grin proudly at her sister's composition.

The DuCouteau's talked little throughout their trek, but when one started to fall behind, the other two offered enough encouragement to get them going again. With how supportive Talon was being, Katarina was embarrassed she'd ever considered that he might betray them. For how well he knew his way around the Noxian underground, he could have stayed in Noxus and never been found, so she felt honored that he would choose to go with her and Cass.

A little over a day later in the middle of the night when the Champions staggered up the steps to the Institute of War, Katarina started to ruminate on the idea of never standing again. They'd shaved almost an entire day from they journey, but from the pain she felt as her socks and boots rubbed against her skin, the red-head was afraid to see how blistered her feet were.

There were no hassles as they each checked out a temporary room, none wishing to attempt setting up a permanent residency in their current state. Leaving the city had been almost dream-like, but arriving at the Institute made the harsh reality apparent; this was their home now.

Katarina stripped out of her dusty clothes and rinsed away the dirt from road. There were too many thoughts racing through her mind, and all she wanted to do was sleep, so she forced them all down, burying them underneath the exhaustion; she could deal with it in the morning. She fell onto her bed and sleep quickly spared her from her thoughts.

* * *

A loud, insistent knock roused the assassin from her slumber. Grumbling all the while, she shouted, "Shut up! I'll be there in a sec'!" as she rolled out of bed and grabbed a robe from the closet.

"What?" she hissed, flinging open the door and wincing as sunlight flooded her eyes.

"S-sorry Miss Katarina," the male summoner who stood outside apologized. "There's been a problem with your Champion status. Well, um, you and Cassiopeia, along with Talon, actually. You're supposed to report to the admissions office right away to get it fixed."

She scoffed in response and slammed the door, her face drawn in irritation. Only the High Command or herself could change her Champion status, so as she dressed and equipped herself for the day, she wondered what lies Swain told to make this happen.

With a set of knives and her daggers in place, the assassin stomped down to her sister's room, only knocking once before her sister answered, awake and ready. "Talon came by and let me know he's already gone ahead," she explained as she ducked under the door frame to join her sister in the hall. "I don't think he ever sleeps."

"Oh, he already came by did he?" Katarina smirked. "He didn't come wake me up."

Cassiopeia narrowed her eyes, threatening, "I'm not in a joking mood."

The assassin scrunched her nose in response, earning a light shove from her sister. Maybe it was a combination of all the events of the last day and a rude awakening, but she was on edge, her daggers begging for a fight. Her expression must have betrayed her blood lust as the pair was given a wide berth from summoners and champions alike while they moved purposefully through the grand halls.

The closer they came to the admissions office, the thinner the crowds became until they finally reached the landing, where there was no one in sight. Talon stood waiting near the wooden office doors, which was situated in the corner, but his back was to the sisters' approach as he gazed down the adjacent hallway. Each of the Champions walked down that marble hallway to the ornately engraved doors only once: Going to their Judgement. Being near it again was disconcerting to all three of the DuCouteau's.

Talon turned to acknowledge them and they wordlessly exchanged sullen glances as he pulled open a door and held it for the women to pass through.

"We've been waiting for you," said a familiar-looking woman in summoner's robes, who rose from her seat in the receiving room when the door shut behind Talon. "I'm summoner Lessa Carin. Please follow me." The tiny summoner led them into a sparse room containing only an unlit fireplace, a handful of chairs, and a large window with a view of the Targon mountain range.

Already seated were Senior Summoners Ezekiel Montrose and Sander Grieve, as well as High Councilors Keirsta Mandrake and Vessaria Kolminye.

"Please have a seat," Keirsta intoned softly, gesturing to the three chairs across from her. "As you were told, we called you here today to discuss the continuation of your duties as Champions in the League of Legends."

"The Noxian High Command informed us that they no longer consider you Champions for Noxus," Vessaria added, her face cold.

"For what reasons?" Cassiopeia spat venomously, although they each knew why.

"We make a point not to become involved in the politics of individual city-states," Ezekiel began, "but leaders are allowed to make any chan-"

"Just answer the question," Katarina interrupted.

With an hard stare, the Noxian Summoner Sander replied, "The High Command has deemed each of you too weak to represent Noxus in the League of Legends." Surprisingly, his gaze softened slightly as he finished, "In warning, you have also been deemed fugitives, to be executed on sight."

"But as Senior Summoner Montrose stated, we do not involve ourselves in the individual matters of city-states," Vessaria advised. "While we cannot guarantee your safety, the rules of the Institute of War prohibit fighting within our walls."

"You will need to commission as independent Champions in order to stay within the Institute of War and fight within the League of Legends, however," Keirsta commented. "Are you willing to do so?"

"Would we be still sitting here if we didn't intend on doing that?" Katarina remarked snidely.

Vessaria's red eyes flashed and her mouth turned down momentarily in a frown. "Show some respect. Your formal acknowledgment, please."

Katarina looked to her side to find that Cassiopeia and Talon were no longer next to her and was momentarily caught off guard to see that Garen was now sitting across from her, so much so that she reached out a hand, but withdrew it just as quickly.

"This again?" the assassin grunted.

Garen gave her a gentle grin that made her heart jump to her throat even though she knew it was just a lie. "I think you'll find that I am graciously refraining from showing you your innermost secrets," his deep voice rumbled. "Why do you want to re-join the League, Katarina DuCouteau?"

Katarina scoffed. "Because we have no where else to go, and if I'm going to kill Swain and LeBlanc, I need a place to work from."

The Demacian laughed, then moved to close the space between them, resting a hand on her cheek. "Is that the only reason?"

Closing her eyes, she ground out, "You. Aren't. Him."

"Don't you want to be close to me?" he asked insistently.

Through gritted teeth, she snarled, "Yes. Now get out of my head."

Vessaria's short laugh was the only response she received as a flash of light washed over her and the room around her re-materialized. This time, Cassiopeia and Talon sat on either side of her, both looking as aggravated as she felt.

"Congratulations, Champions," High Councilor Keirsta smiled. "You have passed again. We will adjust your statuses to reflect your new alliance. Or lack thereof. Please, continue to abide by Institute rules."

Summoner Carin, who had been standing by the entrance the whole time, indicated them to follow her back into the hall. "Thank you for coming," Lessa said politely, motioning toward the door, which opened on its own. "Have a nice day."

"I didn't think they would pull that stunt again," Cassiopeia muttered after the door shut behind them.

Talon nodded, "At least it was fast this time. And less... you know." They could all agree on that.

The three continued to retrace their steps back through the marble halls in relative quiet, until Katarina eventually declared, "I don't know about you guys, but I would love to kill something." Tension broken, Talon and Cass laughed.

"I could go for that," the hooded assassin approved.

Cassiopeia shook her head. "Bloodthirsty, both of you. I'm going to figure out our housing situation first, because clearly I'm the responsible one around here." Her statement elicited another round of laughs from Katarina and Talon. "Real mature," she chided in mock derision. "See if you have places to stay when you're done with your slaughter, vagrants!" For all her threatening, she gave them a small smile as she turned to slither down a different pathway.

"I guess being independent has its perks," Talon proposed as he and Katarina continued on toward the busier end of the Institute and the summoning platforms. "We can volunteer for a lot of different matches now."

The red-head grinned. "That's true. Hopefully there'll be something open for us right now,otherwise we'll just have to settle for killing each other, one on one. Oh!" she exclaimed, stopping in the middle of the hall. "I just remembered, I need to check something really quick. It'll only take a few minutes. I'll meet you on the summoning platform."

Before the assassin could reply she took off at a sprint to the residence hall, for the most part skillfully dodging people as she passed, though she did bump into the Champion Sona as she rounded a corner, who banged down on her etwahl in a discordant sound. Katarina didn't pause though, only shouting "Sorry!" over her shoulder as she continued her run, finally skidding to a breathless stop when she reached the room in which Garen was lodged.

She knocked a few times and waited, but she heard nothing and knocked again, more urgently. Clearly, he wasn't there, but she wasn't surprised. After pausing for moment to think, the assassin bolted again, heading a few corridors over to the mail room. Her sudden appearance caused the mail-clerk to jump, sending papers flying.

"Any messages for Katarina DuCouteau?" she demanded.

"J-just a minute," the wide-eyed attendant gasped, clutching her chest as she edged away into the back room. The red-head tapped her foot impatiently until the woman reappeared, a folded sheet of paper in hand. "There's just the one," she said, though Katarina snatched it from her the second it was in reach and wandered quickly into the hall, leaving the bewildered mailwoman without another word.

Katarina read the Garen's note as she walked mechanically to the summoning platform, a frown slowly forming on her face. It was dated the 17th, the day she left for Noxus, and five days had passed since then. Why hadn't he tried to message her again? Not that she was one to talk, she mentally scolded herself; she had a terribly bad habit of not keeping in contact with people. Still...

Before she could continue puzzling over Garen's message, the assassin was jarred from her thoughts as a rough voice boomed, "Going my way, babe?"

Her head jerked up and she immediately felt her temper flare. "Piss off, Draven," she snapped. Suspicious eyes were cast their direction as the threat of violence exuding from the assassin was almost palpable.

Draven pushed off from the wall on which he was leaning, a taunting grin on his face as he fell into step behind her, axes in hand. "That's not very nice. Draven's just trying to be friendly."

Katarina barked out a scornful laugh. "What do you want?"

The pompous man leaned over her shoulder. "You know," he taunted, his breath hot on her cheek, "there's a reason they call me the Glorious Executioner..."

In a flash, Katarina drew her daggers and met steel with steel, ignoring the shouts from the people around them, her . "I'd like to see you try," she challenged, closing the gap between them with a flurry of strikes that he blocked casually, back-pedaling toward the summoning platform. The hall was big but not like the Fields of Justice; as long as he didn't start throwing those axes...

"Ooh, Kitty Kat's got some claws!" Draven called, baring his teeth in a predatory smile, but still maintaining his defensive stature. "I thought the Demacian had you tamed."

A knife grazed his cheek as it whizzed past, and the sound of it clattering against the far wall accompanied her shout. "Shut up!"

The Executioner smirked and hurled an axe the short distance to her spot. Katarina barely dodged as the second blade flipped out, doubling the axe's length, and there was a thunderous crack as it hit the wall before magically ricocheting back into his hand. "So are the rumors true? Are you fucking him?"

Katarina's eyes widened and all reason left her.

"Kat, don't!"

She was already mid-leap when a blast of magic hit her and stopped her mid strike, the tip of her dagger only a foot away from Draven's neck and his axe arcing toward her stomach. To her surprise, Talon was frozen beside her, his blade arm extended to intercept the axe's strike.

Glancing around wildly, her eyes landed on Keirsta who was poised with outstretched arms ten feet behind Draven.

"Did we not just talk about abiding by Institute rules?" the High Councilor demanded.

"This is Noxian business, princess," Draven drawled. "No need to get involved."

Gone was the demure High Councilor Keirsta. She frowned and flicked her wrists, sending a painful pulse of energy coursing through each of the Champions before she flung them apart and dropped them unceremoniously onto the floor.

"It may be, but within the Institute of War, you abide by our rules and that means no fighting within our walls!" Pointing at the three Noxians who lay in a crumpled heap, she finished, "Katarina, Draven. Follow me. We need to discuss the damage you two have done to the hall. Talon, you will talk to Senior Summoner Grieve. Now! "

The two assassins stared with murderous intent at the swaggering executioner while they silently rose to follow the summoner. Draven simply offered Katarina the haughty smile which she was quickly growing to hate.

Keirsta motioned the two Champions into an empty study nearby, slamming the door behind her. "I understand there is some tension going on within Noxus, but the Institute of War is the governing power in Valoran, and you will respect our authority!"

Draven's eyes narrowed. "One day, you won't be as fast as you were today," he threatened. "Nothing stops Draven from getting what he wants."

"Then I will discuss with High Councilor Kolminye the appropriate sanctions to keep you in check," she declared, matching his unwavering gaze. "And you," she said, rounding on Katarina, "after just being reassessed for Champion status, you so flagrantly engaged in this petty fight-"

"Petty?" the assassin repeated. "This fucking psycho is trying to kill me!"

"Bystanders indicate that you initiated the fight, Miss DuCouteau," Keirsta stated. "You are not a child, so do not try and say you were provoked!"

Fuming, Katarina bit her lip to refrain from lashing out at the summoner. But he did provoke her!

"Once we have assessed the cost for repairs, you will repay the League for the damage done. Katarina, you may leave. Draven, you come with me."

The assassin stormed out of the study as fast as her feet would carry her, dashing downstairs to the Institute's archives, an unstimulating environment where she could compose herself, before she did something both violent and regrettable The summoner Octavius gave her a cheerful wave as she strode past which she returned with a nod, continuing past into the stacks at a slower pace.

Sanctions? Pathetic. Although she couldn't claim to understand what went on in the ridiculous man's mind, she knew he was driven and would not stop until he achieved his goals, restrictions or not. But the League was still the safest place, and now she was going to be stuck here until Draven lost interest or killed her.

No.

No, those couldn't be the only options!

Katarina supposed she could kill him first. He had to sleep sometime, and between herself and Talon, surely one of them possessed the stealth to accomplish a simple nighttime assassination. It would have to be outside the Institute, or else she'd be subjected to whatever Institute punishments awaited such a crime.

With a groan of frustration, the assassin collapsed into chair at the spot she and Garen previously used for reading and rested her head on the table. How did politics ever become so wrapped up in killing?

"Poor Katarina. What's the matter? Someone slay your family right in front of you?"

She didn't need to look up to know who that callous voice belonged to. "Go. Away. Vayne."

Vayne snickered at her dark inside joke as she sat down across the table from Katarina. "I heard about your plight with Noxus. How unfortunate."

"Did you come here to gloat? Because my temper is very short today," the red-head warned, pulling a knife from her belt.

"I'm just here to pass on some information you might find intriguing," the woman said, adjusting her glasses. "About the situation in Demacia."

Finally, Katarina lifted her head. "What situation?"

A calculating smile curved Vayne's red lips. "It figures you wouldn't have heard yet. Jarvan III is trying to keep everything under wraps. It started with your plaything, Garen Crownguard."

Deep breath, count to ten...

"Please, explain," the assassin commanded through gritted teeth.

"It would appear Garen was charged with treason for aiding you in search of your father and due to the...explicit nature of your relationship," Vayne remarked, raising an eyebrow.

Katarina felt her face burn. "H-he said that?"

"He didn't have to. They imported some new Piltoverian techmaturgy that did it for him," the huntress clarified. "But it brought up some other things the king wasn't pleased with. Long story short, Demacia is out four of its strongest League Champions: Garen, Lux, Jarvan IV, and Shyvana."

Taken aback by the news, the red-head quickly asked, "Why would Jarvan III do something so stupid? They barely have any League presence now!"

Vayne actually looked somewhat apprehensive, which the Noxian found unsettling. "I wondered the same, so I did some investigating of my own." The huntress leaned in slightly, her voice lowered, and continued, "Jarvan had a very reliable source, who claimed if the Demacian Champions went unchecked, events could snowball into the next Rune War. High Councilor Vessaria Kolminye herself."

"But that's against all the law!" Katarina cried in a hushed tone. "Summoners can't relay that kind of personal information!"

"I know," Vayne nodded. "I intend to look into it. With the Relivash scandal still so fresh in my mind, I'm thinking Kolminye was involved as well. Prevent the next Rune War? More like cause it! Even without your family, Noxus now has 5 more Champions present in the League."

Her brow furrowed, Katarina asked, "But what why would Vessaria want to cause another Rune War? She's a High Councilor"

"I'm...not sure," the Night Hunter admitted as she rose her chair. "But I will find out."

"Wait!" Katarina interjected, her green eyes downcast. "Do you... know what happened to Garen?"

The bespectacled woman smirked, "He was exiled and had his Demacian Champion status permanently revoked. I heard he was going to Kalamanda. Probably too ashamed to show his face around here."

"Are you...going that direction?" the assassin asked with a frown.

Scowling, Vayne stated disdainfully, "I'm not your post-office," as she stalked into library's shadows.

Katarina jumped into motion at a brisk pace to the library entrance, taking the stairs to the first floor two at a time. Kalamanda was just a short walk away, if she snuck out, just for a little while...

"Katarina!"

She was joined by Talon who dashed to her side, muttering, "Where did you go?".

"Library. Listen, there's something I have to look into. I need to leave the League for a bit," she rushed.

The hooded assassin grabbed her wrist and yanked her to a halt in the middle of the hallway. "Woah, wait, start over. What's going on?"

Katarina hesitated for a second, then motioned him to follow her to her room. As soon as the door shut, she quickly summarized the situation as Vayne informed her. "So, I want to go to Kalamanda. You know, see if we still have an ally."

Talon listened dutifully throughout her explanation and remained quiet for a few moments afterwards. When he finally spoke, he did not say what she anticipated. "What Draven asked about, is it true?"

A brief look of surprise passed over her face, but she felt the flush creeping up her neck. "No! He was just saying that to piss me off."

His face showed that he wasn't buying it. "So you want to go check on a man that helped get us into this mess?"

"It's... well, I mean-"

"Don't lie to me!" he hissed, eyes flashing in anger. "It's true isn't it?!"

She said nothing, setting her jaw and turning her gaze to the side as he shook his head, looking more upset with each passing second. "How could you do something so selfish?!" he shouted.

"It's no big deal!" she muttered, waving her hand. "It wasn't hurting anyone!"

Talon leapt up from his seat on the edge of the bed, towering threateningly over the woman in front of him. "Wasn't hurting anyone?! We're marked for _death_! And you're willing to _risk your life_ to go see him?! I mean, shit! You risked mine and Cassiopeia's lives just to fucking spread your legs for some Demacian-"

He wasn't expecting the solid punch she landed to the side of his face.

"FUCK YOU! Is it so wrong that he makes me _happy_?! You think I don't know how fucking stupid it is?! I never thought things would turn out like this!"

She had never seen Talon lose his composure so thoroughly: His face was red, twisted in an expression of rage, his fists clenched tightly at his side. "Well, I hope you're happy now," he snarled and, with nothing more to say, he flashed to the door, slamming it shut before she could stop him.

Katarina screamed in frustration, taking her daggers and stabbing them into the bed, not caring about damages or about how childish she was acting. Talon didn't know how hard she resisted, tried to stop, keep away. He didn't know how maddening it was that _nothing_ had worked, that Garen was like a cancer that had grown in her bones, dooming her from the first time they'd clashed blades.

A quiet whimper escaped her throat and the dam broke, all the anger, frustration, helplessness, and fear she'd shoved away and ignored, finally escaping. Her shoulders shook as she cried. No, no, no, she was strong, this wasn't her...

She pulled her daggers from the mattress and hurled them into the wall, taking their place face down in the sheets, as she sobbed. It was the middle of the afternoon, but physical and emotional exhaustion had taken their toll, and sleep soon claimed her.


	11. Isolation

_Hey eerbody. Thanks as usual for all the great feedback and critiques! I hope with everyone's advice and encouragement I'll keep getting better! There is a specific drink in here, the modern day equivalent of which is the appropriately named "Miner's lung"- 3 shots of vodka mixed with Guinness stout *dies a little inside*. Umm...hm this chapter had a lot of stuff that was so hard to describe...please forgive me if it sounds not good :(. I tried! What else... Oh, when I was writing, I kept getting distracted by reading about different tropes. I could read about tropes all day. Except now I'm really self-conscious about my story, lol. _

_OH YEAH GAIZ. I had to look at the most terrible things to get this chapter written, like Urgot's splash art, and acid burns. I highly recommend you don't google the latter._

* * *

_Isolation_

* * *

When he absolutely had to attend to duties in the League of Legends, Urgot was inclined to avoid the well-populated areas of the Institute, though even the most populous hallways had the tendency to clear out very quickly when he roamed them. Instead he favored his basement-level room and the dingy basement lounge which was visited only by Champions like himself, such as his former commander Sion and the Cursed Troll; the upper floors did not like being reminded of the existence of ones such as they, abominable and disgusting creatures. The Headsman's Pride found the sickened look that befell their faces at his presence quite humorous.

So it was a great surprise to Urgot when, as he sharpened his blade before his next match in the solitude of his residence, a knock sounded on his door. Without bothering to move from his whetstone, the continuing scrape of metal accompanied his grating, digitized voice as he called, "Enter."

"Hey there, Urgot ol' pal," Draven greeted as he strolled into the dim room.

"What do you want?" Urgot replied curtly.

The Glorious Executioner laughed, a little awkwardly. The machine-man even made Draven feel out of place, and that was a very difficult thing to achieve. "I have a letter for you. From Swain," he informed. A letter he'd already taken the liberty of reading, as evidenced by the unfolded paper he tossed on top of Urgot's blade.

Urgot peered over the letter, keeping it in place with the flat of his blade-hand, but after reading a few sentences, he pushed it out of his face. "I don't have the patience for Swain's rambling. Summarize the letter and leave."

With a grin, Draven started "Katarina DuCouteau is a traitor to Noxus-"

"I have no interest in political games."

Draven's smile stretched even wider. "And she's Garen Crownguard's lover."

At that, Urgot went still.

"Two birds, one stone," the tattooed man insinuated as he turned to leave. "Do your country a favor."

As he rushed from the room, Draven heard a loud crash followed by a bone-chilling roar.

* * *

Jarvan IV had been on edge since the debacle with his father a few days ago, too resentful to even try to talk to him. After he explained the situation to Shyvana, she'd turned and walked away without a word; chasing after her only earned him a fierce glare and a demanding "Leave me alone" that held the fiery undertones of her dragon half. She was gone for several days.

But it was her return that finally spurred him to demand an audience with the king. He was on the practice grounds with the soldiers when he became aware of a burning gaze on his back, turning to find the half-dragon woman standing sullenly at the entrance.

"Shyv, I'm sorry," he blurted as he approached her. He could see the muscle in her jaw twitch as she clenched her teeth, as standoffish as ever, considering the presence of so many of her former comrades.

"I would like to talk now," she finally growled. "But not here." There was no pause to see if he followed as she left the grounds, but follow he did.

Hastily, the pair walked outside to the open gardens of the castle, the closest place the could go without fear of being overheard or easily seen.

"I'm sorry," he repeated, looking distraught at the woman beside him. "I don't know how he knew, and I never thought it would turn out like it has."

Anger was Shyvana's natural response, demonstrated through quick responses and sharp words; however, Jarvan knew when she paused as she did now, she was in deep consideration of what to say and how to say it, a rarity to which only he was privy.

"I believe you," she eventually replied. "I have done much thinking the past three days. And I understand my punishment was justified. I am...unfit for you."

The prince stopped and grabbed her by the shoulders. "You are not!" he insisted. She let out a low chuckle.

"I first came here because I owed you a debt, and you earned my respect," she murmured. "I know my service to you and Demacia has been more than enough to repay you, yet I stayed. I scorned humans, yet I craved your acceptance. Everything I knew began to contradict itself."

"Shyvana-"

"Let me finish," she requested. "You have shown me the great good that humanity is capable of, so much so that I, for once, have stopped hating my human half. But now I..." Her typically ferocious expression took on a bitter cast. "I see my dragon's blood as a curse, because I cannot be with you in the way that I wish."

Grasping her face in his hands, Jarvan shook his head and whispered, "I don't see just dragon or just human. I see Shyvana. And I want all of you."

Unintentionally, she smiled, a fleeting, soft thing reserved only for him, but she sobered just as quickly. "Is it even possible?"

Jarvan frowned and vowed, "I will _make_ my father change his mind." A promise, sealed with a kiss.

That was how he found himself finally sitting across from his father, despite his still simmering anger towards the man. "I wish to talk about the punishments levied on myself, Shyvana, Lux, and Garen."

To his surprise, Jarvan Sr. wearily sighed, "What questions do you have?"

"Well...just, don't you think they were generally too harsh?" the prince suggested hotly.

The king shook his head. "Demacia's rules have always been strict. Everyone knows this; it is what makes our nation what she is."

"But Garen has been nothing but faithful since he enlisted!" Jarvan exclaimed. "Lux as well! Why was there no consideration given to-"

"Something you will come to realize when you are king, son, is that partiality causes more problems than it is worth," he interrupted. "When Garen, Lux, and Shyvana enlisted into the military, they swore an oath of servitude and obedience to their King and country. Is their rule-breaking to be met with less expectation than any other soldier's? No! There can be no exceptions!"

The prince clenched his fist and forced himself to take a deep breath before responding, "That may be, but exile? Isn't that excessive?"

With a heavy sigh, the king replied, "If it had been anyone except the DuCouteau woman, I might have lessened it. It is too risky, having him tied to her, a part of the High Command, while tied to Demacia. Suppose she decided to betray him for the chance to kill one of us, or Noxus used the relationship as reason for war. Maybe he could have been swayed to betray Demacia further than he already did. Severing his ties was the most efficient way to distance the city from a potentially disastrous situation. Do you see that there were too many dangerous variables to consider?"

Jarvan frowned, feeling guilty that he could see the reasoning behind his father's actions, even if he didn't agree.

"Luxanna is a valuable asset to Demacia," Jarvan III continued. "It was clear she was fallen somewhat from the appropriate mindset in her failure to report her brother's wayward actions, but going through new recruit training should adjust her properly. We need her brilliance on our side."

Everything his father was saying sounded familiar yet somehow foreign. Jarvan IV knew the rules, knew as his father explained his reasoning that it was directly in line with Demacia's ethical code. But why then did it sound so _wrong_?

"For her light infraction, a mild sentence for Shyvana. She will be reinstated into the League as a Demacian Champion eventually, and will be free to enlist in the military once more." The king narrowed his eyes at his son and added, "She is not the right woman for you, Jarvan."

Even still his words stung the prince. "You never even gave her a chance!" he shouted. "She's smart and a fierce warrior, someone I would be proud to show at my side!"

"The future queen of Demacia needs to be able to manage herself in the political realm alongside you!" the king argued. "Undeniably she is an admirable fighter! But what happens when she is trying to help you negotiate peace and she loses her temper?"

"She's better than that! You don't know her! You don't know of the good things she is capable of doing!"

Again Jarvan Sr. shook his head slowly. "As the crown prince of Demacia, I have told you before that the needs of the nation come before your personal desires. And we need people who can benefit Demacia."

That was when it clicked for Jarvan IV. Why everything sounded simultaneously familiar and amiss.

"Demacia is no different from Noxus," he stated with sudden clarity. "Those with no perceived use are cast aside, while the zealously devoted rise through the ranks."

"What are you talking about, son?" the elder asked, brow raised in confusion.

"We hide behind the banners of justice and morality when we'd just as easily betray our own for any show of weakness," the prince commented, almost more to himself than his father. "How have we all been so blind to that...?"

King Jarvan III stood, his face steeled into a cold expression. "Get out, and be glad I don't make your charge worse."

The prince rose as well, but paused before he left the room. "I will change things," he swore. "I will make you see reason."

* * *

"Luxanna Crownguard!"

The blonde mage closed her eyes and braced herself for the storm that was sure to follow her mother's shriek.

She was pleasantly shocked when she felt Lilia's arms encircle her in a tight embrace instead.

"I got held up in Freljord but I came as quickly as I could," Lilia cried. "Are you ok?"

"Mother?" Tentatively, Lux raised her hands to return the hug. Around each of her wrists was a thick silver cuff which let off a faint blue glow and served to suppress her magic entirely. "I'm... I'm fine, mom, I'm ok," she whispered, clinging to Lilia's thin frame. "Aren't you mad?"

Lilia pulled away from her daughter and directed a hard slap to Lux's face. "I'm _furious!_" she screamed before bursting into tears and seizing Lux in another hug.

Her face stung and her cheek was red, but the tears in her eyes weren't from the slap; Lux couldn't remember the last time Lilia hugged her. She let out a soft sob and buried her face in her mother's shoulder. "I'm sorry, mother! I'm so sorry!"

The two Crownguard women stood holding each other in the hall until their tears had slowed, and Lilia finally pushed her daughter away from her, asking, "Do you know where Garen is?"

Lux gave a small shake of her head. "He probably went to the League. Where...where else would he go? He has nothing! If it weren't for Capt-... _Commander _Anders, he wouldn't even have decent clothes to wear."

Lilia covered her mouth, distressed. "How did this happen? I don't believe treason, not for a minute! Not from Garen! I raised you two better than that!"

Luxanna shifted her gaze to her feet and remained quiet.

"Luxanna," her mother said in a warning tone. "What. Happened."

With a heavy sigh, the mage slumped in defeat. "I guess you'll hear about it eventually. Might as well make sure you hear the truth." She motioned for her mother to follow her into the study. "You'll want to sit down for this story."

* * *

Five days in Kalamanda was enough to make Garen reconsider his decision to avoid the League. After the removal of military presence, and the construction of the Crystal Scar, refugees of the war trickled back to the town, slowly at first, then in droves, to reconstruct their homes, and it wasn't long until it began to grow with the small influx of money that came from the League.

He wasn't completely without activity: The locals were excited to have someone as big as he to help with repairs to Crystal Scar field after matches, but it wasn't much, and they were reluctant to give him full-time work at the quarry or refinery. Even though he was able to remain relatively untroubled in Kalamanda, he found he had too much time on his hands; was it really better than potentially being derided by his former teammates, but having a purpose?

It was difficult to admit, even to himself, that it was more than just fear of being scorned that kept him from the League. Truthfully, he was simply too proud to admit that he'd failed, or that he needed help, or to look Katarina in the eye and say he had nothing to offer. His identity was centered around his work with the military; he wasn't certain who he even was without it.

But Kalamanda gave him his space and took care of him enough that he managed to survive the tumult of the first few days of his exile. Although there were many places he could have stayed, in an effort to conserve what little money he had, Garen made a camp in the forest he had come to know so well that consisted of only a fire next to a tree, that was so twisted in on itself it made a decent sleeping platform. He was grateful he had learned survival skills in the military, but without even a simple knife, hunting and trapping were out of the question; he took payment for the work he did primarily in the form of food.

Evening was approaching and the quiet town was beginning to shut down activity for the day, leaving Garen no choice but to go back to his camp and ruminate on his thoughts for the rest of the night. As he headed toward the treeline, the Demacian stopped in his tracks, his mind changed. He quickly pulled the money from his vest pocket and counted it out, deciding that he could spare enough for one drink. Alcohol wasn't his usual method of coping, but he supposed he was still young enough to pick up a good vice.

Now that Kalamanda was devoid of soldiers, the Hasty Hammer bar had reverted to being a local meeting place after work hours. The clinking of dishes and buzz of different conversations greeted him as he walked in, and Garen hesitantly nodded to a few people as he maneuvered through the tables to the bar where he set down his carefully counted money.

"What're you having?" the bartender, a short and heavy set man with an impressively long beard, asked, leaning on the counter.

"The strongest thing this will get me," the soldier mumbled, pushing his cash across the bar to the man, who gave him a sympathetic look before counting it out and grabbing an extra large mug. Garen watched with interest as the bartender poured in several shots of a clear liquor and topped it with the darkest beer he'd ever seen, far more than he paid for.

"You look like you could use a little extra," the bearded man explained, sliding the tall glass into Garen's welcoming hands before he turned to take the order of another patron who sat down a few seats away.

Garen took a deep drink and promptly let out a choked cough at the unexpectedly sludge-like quality of the liquid.

"So what's your problem that you need a drink like that?" a male voice questioned. Garen looked to the source to see the man who'd just sat down a few seats to his right. He was dressed entirely in black, his hood drawn so low over his face that Garen could only see his mouth curved up in a familiar smirk over his closely trimmed salt-and-pepper beard. A simple dagger was strapped to his side, the only visible weaponry on the man, but Garen had the distinct feeling there was more beneath the cloak.

"Just..." he paused, trying to think of one word to summarize the entirety of his problems. "Politics," he muttered, hoping the stranger would leave him alone. He was not so lucky; the man slid his drink down the bar toward the Demacian before joining it.

"Not a woman?!" the man laughed. "Now that's rare."

Garen couldn't help but smile a little. "There's a woman, but she's definitely not the problem."

"Well, if that's not a reason to be happy, then I don't know what is."

They were both quiet for a few minutes as they drank, until Garen blurted, "I can't be with her though," surprising himself.

The man rubbed a gloved hand over his chin and asked curiously, "And why is that?"

"...It's complicated." Damn, he never intended to actually talk to this guy. "There's a lot of stuff in the way right now."

"Take it from me kid," the stranger grinned, "if you really want to be with her, get over your little pity party and man up. She doesn't need some indecisive asshole to worry about." The door to the bar swung open and the man glanced over, then promptly downed his drink. As he slid off his bar stool, he added, "Nice meeting you."

Garen sat in a disbelieving silence while the man all but vanished from the bar, then turned back to his drink with a scowl. What the hell did he know anyway?! He felt a heavy hand on his shoulder, and he looked up in time to see a flash of purple before he caught a punch square in the jaw that made him crash against the floor.

"Take it outside before we make you," the bartender warned, his voice ringing loud and threatening through the hush that settled over the tavern.

"Don't worry," Talon assured, his face a mask of cold indifference that met the Demacian's glare as he bolted to his feet. "We're going."

With a shove the assassin pushed Garen forward and out the door, mumbling when they were clear of prying eyes, "Pathetic drunk bastard."

It was just the motivation for which Garen was looking. With a growl, he tackled the man around the waist and sent him face first to the dirt, and Talon quickly pushed up against him, getting enough space to connect an elbow with the Demacian's nose. It wasn't strong, but it was enough for Garen to loosen his grip on the assassin, which he used to his advantage.

In the same motion, Talon twisted against the soldier's grip and shoved a shoulder into his chest, catching him still off balance from the previous strike. Finally facing his attacker, Talon ceased any action Garen was contemplating when he placed the cold steel of his wrist blade against his neck. The unarmed Demacian allowed the assassin to shove him onto his back, simply glaring back with eyes full of hostility as Talon pressed a knee into his sternum.

"I only just decided not to kill you," the Noxian hissed. "Don't make me change my mind."

"Do it! No one's stopping you!" Garen gasped.

Red eyes flashed and his blade drew blood, but not enough to be lethal. Garen coughed as the pressure unexpectedly let up on his chest.

"I can't believe I'm fucking doing this," Talon muttered to himself, extending a hand to the wary soldier. "I'm not giving you any second chances. Get up."

Suspicion clearly etched on his face, Garen took the assassin's hand and staggered to his feet. The combination of alcohol and oxygen deprivation had his vision swimming, but he didn't have time to compose himself before Talon demanded, "Where are you staying? We need to talk."

"Now you want to talk?" the Demacian rasped.

"You want to start this again?" the Noxian countered, raising his blade. "Because I will kill you."

Garen glared, but motioned for Talon to follow him further outside the city into the woods. When they finally reached his simple camp, the assassin barked, "Sit down." The Demacian hesitated until the hooded man subtly flexed his armed wrist.

"I know about you and Katarina," he explained, pacing the area in front of Garen, who wisely kept his mouth shut. "And it makes sense that we're in this mess now. If it weren't for you none of this would have happened!"

"What mess are you in?" Garen frowned, ignoring the flush creeping up his neck. "And how is it my fault?!"

Talon stopped pacing. "You know, Swain wants us dead. We're trapped at the League. Oh, and our house got burned down," he sneered sarcastically. "None of this would have happened if Katarina didn't actually...care about you!"

"Wait a second!" Garen cried. "What are you talking about?! You still would've gotten on Swain's bad side doing all that investigation into LeBlanc and the Black Rose! That is _not_ my fault!"

Whirling on the Demacian, Talon shouted, "I knew she should've killed you after we got the information on the League! That would have solved everything! But she didn't want to! See why it's your fault now?!"

Talon told Katarina to kill him? Garen was stunned, though why he would have expected any less from a pair of assassin's, he didn't know. He felt pleasantly warm that she'd refused. "Then do it now," he challenged quietly. "If it will still make everything better for her, then do it!"

The assassin clenched his fists, and let the conversation lapse momentarily. "I realized it wouldn't change anything now," he admitted. "Cass was right; Swain would do anything to have a reason to kill us. And Katarina... I won't hurt her like that."

Talon's confession was unsettling; never would Garen have expected such a revealing statement from the hardened assassin. "... I'm sorry. I never thought... any of this would happen," he murmured.

The hooded man clicked his tongue in frustration. "I'm still pissed at you. The least you could do to make up to her would be to come back to the League," the Noxian asserted. "If we leave the Institute, Draven is going to hunt us down, her especially. And... gods it kills me to say this, but a little extra help would be useful."

"Why don't we just kill him?" Garen suggested. "Wouldn't that be the easiest thing to do?"

"I would love to, but I don't know what kind of repercussions killing a Champion will have from the League, even if it's outside their walls. Or what Swain will do, for that matter. We need to play it safe." He scoffed, "Besides, you don't think we thought of that?"

"Fair enough," the Demacian shrugged. First the man at the bar, now Talon; Garen could take a hint. "Does she know you're here?" he queried as he stood.

Talon hesitated, then replied, "No, she doesn't. We got into it about your... Are you two actually together?"

His expression showed annoyance, but the blood was rising to his cheeks. "I... I don't know!" he stammered. "L-look, let's just go."

"Hey!" Talon grabbed the other man's arm, his face threatening. "She part of the only family I've ever had..." With an indignant scoff his only response, Garen shrugged off his hand and marched off in the direction of the League, Talon following close behind.

It literally made the assassin's stomach church to ask for help, especially since his whole life had been centered around doing things for himself. But if Katarina really wanted him...

"I'm sorry if I made things difficult. For you and Cassiopeia too, not just Katarina," the Demacian muttered.

Talon groaned. "Oh for fuck's sake! Are you always so damn nice?"

* * *

Katarina sheathed her daggers, pulling one from the wall and plucking the other from the floor with a heavy sigh. Even though her immature display a few hours prior still lingered distastefully in her memory, she felt like she was back in control now, cool and collected. A pang in her chest accompanied Talon's words sounding in her head: _Selfish, selfish, selfish. _This was not the time to be selfish, and her family could not afford for her to be so. Garen could reach out for her, but she wasn't about to go chasing him down.

The assassin stomped over to the bathroom and splashed some cold water on her puffy eyes, allowing herself a derisive laugh as she considered what might have happened if Talon hadn't confronted her. She needed to be aware of Draven's whereabouts at all times; he might not be able to get the jump on her, but Cass was a good deal more vulnerable, and she didn't trust him not to do something underhanded, even in the Institute.

Before she could finish drying off her face, there was a series of loud thuds on her door, and she forced herself to take a few deep breaths to keep her anger from rising again. "If you think you can just apologize and I'll forget about what you said, you got another thing coming!" she declared, crossing the room to swing open the door.

Katarina narrowly jumped back as a jagged blade stabbed at the space she occupied a split second earlier. As she drew her blades, Urgot pushed the door frame and shot a missile at her feet, causing her to stumble as sparks burned through the soft soles of her boots, but momentum carried her forward and she sliced into the monstrous Champion.

Urgot's body had seen much harsher damage though, and Katarina had a moment to wonder why he didn't try to block, when she noticed the machine on his back start to glow.

It was only a second, but a second was all the executioner needed. The assassin lost control of her body, freezing in place as she suddenly blinked to the place Urgot had been standing. Katarina didn't think twice about bolting for the door, but found that she could barely move, her limbs straining and pushing her nowhere. He fired another missile that hit the red-head in the back of the leg, this one exploding in a splash of acid that melted through the fabric of her pants and ate through the skin and muscle of her calves, causing her to fall to her knees with a whimper of pain.

The exchange had lasted less than ten seconds, and Urgot calmly moved to shut the door. Katarina rolled away from the area of floor which still bubbled with acid, and with a cry surged to her feet. Her hands were shaking as she hurled all the knives she possessed in furious burst of steel at the Champion's chest, which sliced through the sickening patchwork of his skin and made him stagger back. With the damage to her legs, the assassin tried to lunge into another attack and promptly dropped to her knees again.

"You're not going to get away with this," she groaned.

The monster shot another corrosive charge, which clipped her thigh and exploded as she tried to dodge. "I do not wish to," he replied evenly, scuttling to her position, unaffected by the acid that was eroding the floor, and unphased by the thick blood that oozed down his torso. "And I do not care if you live or die, so long as Garen Crownguard suffers."

The steel of his blade was so sharp she didn't even feel it until it was sliding out of her lower abdomen. With a soft cry, she fell to her side, clutching at the wound while Urgot quickly made his exit, the soft click of the door echoing in her ears with a sort of grim finality.

No one was coming to save her.

Her finger's curled into a fist.

No.

One arm pressed against the bleeding wound, she willed her damaged legs to push against the floor and clawed her way to the bedside, small whimpers tumbling from her lips as she moved. Katarina pulled on the bed sheet until there was enough slack to wrap around her stomach and she tied it as tightly as her trembling fingers could manage. With dread heavy in her chest, her gaze drifted down to her legs.

They'd only felt a little hot, with a slight sting, until she'd looked at them. And then the pain became unbearable. Her mouth opened in a silent cry and then she slumped onto the floor and into oblivion.


	12. Fragile Things

_Oh my god! 100 reviews! :D Thank you everyone! Sorry I was so slow in getting this one up and responding to reviews. I kept flip flopping on a bunch of things so hopefully it turned out ok... There was more too add but it was taking too long for me to get this chapter done so it'll be in the next chapter. School is almost over for the semester, so soon I will have all the time in the world to write for you! _

_This has become so much more than I ever dreamed it would and it is all because of you ladies and gents! I really can't thank you all enough! _

* * *

_Fragile Things_

* * *

If there was anything Shauna Vayne was good at it, it was getting information; she had contacts all over Valoran that kept their ears open for even the smallest pieces of rumors, and when someone outside her network needed a little "encouragement" to share, her crossbow could be very convincing.

But even though Vayne had spent the better part of her life hunting down magic users and other scum who'd committed the most shocking of crimes, it was still a surprise to learn that High Councilor Vessaria Kolminye had been meeting with Jericho Swain on a very regular basis. To anyone except Vayne it would seem perfectly normal that Vessaria should meet with the leader of Noxus given the political nature of her position, but to the huntress, it didn't seem right. She knew Swain was affiliated with the Black Rose, and after learning Vessaria had been the one to break the confidentiality of the League of Legends by talking to Jarvan III, Vayne was appropriately suspicious that the High Councilor had fallen under the sway of the Black Rose.

These suspicions were what led the Night Hunter to drop in unexpectedly on the High Councilor one evening as she prepared to leave her office for the evening.

"What can I do for you, Shauna Vayne?" Vessaria sat organizing documents into files but stopped to address her, a cold smile fixed upon her face.

Impassive as ever, Vayne leveled her wrist-mounted crossbow at Vessaria's face stating, "Let's cut to the chase. Are you in league with the Black Rose?" In response, the Night Hunter felt a surge of magic hit her accompanied by Vessaria's tinkling laughter. Without hesitating, she fired a silver bolt that, to her surprise, passed through the summoner's face with a puff of smoke. By the time she whirled around and saw the ethereal chains that seemed to wrap around her, the huntress was rendered immobile.

Vessaria flashed another haughty smile as the illusion faded away, leaving Vayne staring in shock at LeBlanc's beautiful and terrifying face.

"Silly little girl from the cupboard," she crooned, raising her staff. "I am the Black Rose."

* * *

"I don't see how you're not dead yet," Talon huffed as he and Garen bolted up the Institute steps. "You're so damn loud." A majority of their short journey was spent exchanging verbal assaults as such.

"Give me a sword and I'll show you how," the soldier grumbled.

Even as tense as the atmosphere between the two men was, for once the Demacian immediately felt relaxed as they passed under the massive entryway and into the safety of the Institute. In the place of his anxiety grew excitement.

"Where's Katarina staying?" he asked eagerly.

Talon shook his head and sighed, "Figures," but took off toward the residence hall without warning, an enthusiastic Garen following behind him. The Demacian was too preoccupied with his own thoughts to be bothered by the assassin's sullen attitude: Would Katarina be excited to see him too? Gods, he should have showered first…

"What the…" Talon wondered aloud, a note of concern in his brusque voice. A crowd was formed down the hall, clotting the hallway with Champions and summoners alike, who seemed to be looking interestedly into a particular room. A foreboding feeling settled in Garen's chest and, as they edged closer to the crowd, gave way to distress when Talon suddenly said, "Oh, shit," and bolted the rest of the way.

The first thing Garen noticed as he and Talon pushed through the throng of people was the smell, acrid but somehow sweet, reminiscent of war and the dead. Most summoners held their robes over their faces, unaccustomed to the smell that was all too familiar to the Champions present. Snippets of conversation as he passed, "-like acid-," "-rushed to the infirmary-," only intensified the dread twisting his stomach; a few steps ahead, Talon, finally emerged on the other side of the sea of bodies, and Garen nearly flew into a panic as he heard the assassin howl, "What happened?! Where is she!?"

A few seconds later, the soldier joined him in the room and a over a decade of military service couldn't stop his hand from flying to his mouth in alarm. Inside, the smell was thick enough to taste and blood coated the floor and sheets; the source of the burned smell was evident by the warped floor that still sizzled as acid continued to slowly eat away at the carpet. He'd seen worse, so much worse, but he knew from the hysterical look on Talon's face that, whatever had occurred, Katarina had been involved, and that thought made the situation in the room intolerable.

Blocking the path of a retreating summoner Talon shouted, "This is Katarina's room! What happened to her?!"

The summoner recoiled from the two Champions and stammered, "T-there was an accident-"

"This doesn't look like a fucking accident!" Talon interrupted, seizing the front of the summoner's robes. "What. The fuck. Happened?!"

"We're not sure!" the summoner blurted. "Someone reported the smell a-and so we came and she was already… it looked like she was attacked- maybe another Champion-w-we aren't sure!"

Through gritted teeth, the assassin hissed, "Is she... is she alive?" Garen held his breath.

"YES!" the summoner squeaked, struggling in the Noxian's grasp. "They rushed her to the infirmary 20 minutes ago! They're trying to stabilize her!"

Talon shoved aside the summoner to turn to the Demacian but found the other Champion crouched on the ground inspecting the damage to the floor. It was true Garen wasn't well versed in the Champions of the League, but he'd seen at least three use something that could be acid on the Fields of Justice, and the world seemed to suddenly go quiet as Garen realized the only one of those Champions which would have the motive.

Rising to his feet, Garen seized a different summoner, who was inspecting the bed nearby. "Did the attacker leave any other evidence?" he demanded.

The summoner let out a startled squeak as she turned into Talon and Garen's intense stares and started to shake her head, but then she bit her lip and whispered, "They're organizing a group to look into...well, we're not supposed to say anything but, they found what might be a blood trail leading out the East entrance." Without another word, the two men bolted from the room, shoving bodies from their path.

"Who was it?" Talon questioned.

"Urgot."

The assassin considered it, then muttered, "Let's go then," but before he could bolt, the Demacian stopped him.

"Wait! This is... personal," he mumbled. "I need to go alone."

Dark eyes flashed and Talon quipped, "You don't think it's personal for me too? She's _my_ family!"

"You don't understand! Urgot... I'm the one who made him like he is," Garen revealed. "It was a long time ago, but... that's why he did this, I'm sure of it, so I need to take care of this."

Talon looked about five seconds away from leaping for the Demacian's throat, and his blade twitched expectantly. "Fine!" he spat to Garen's surprise. "I hope you kill each other! She's better off without you!" At that, he took off running toward the infirmary, leaving the soldier who went toward the makeshift armory the League kept for when Champions needed a spare weapon.

"Hey! You can't just barge in here!" a summoner shouted as Garen burst through door and made a direct line for the armor. The Demacian wasn't deterred as he quickly rifled through the equipment, lacing up a simple pair of vambraces over his gauntlets while ignoring the summoner's decreasing objections. His search continued until he found a pair of old Demacian pauldrons and impatiently decided that they would have to suffice as he belted them across his chest.

The summoner was still glaring albeit silently as the Demacian continued his disruptive search in the next room, which contained racks upon racks of different weapons. Realistically Garen knew he would be hard pressed to find a sword that would rival Demacian Justice in quality, but settled for the only sword in the armory that matched it for size and weight; it was sharp but the nicks in the steel and the worn wraps on the grip indicated that it had seen better days. With a deep breath to slow his racing heart, Garen belted the sheath onto his back and rose, giving the summoner a nod as he exited.

Years before Kalamanda was even on the radar, there had been one particularly nasty battle in which Jarvan IV was captured by Noxian forces and the Dauntless Vanguard barely saved him before the Noxian division executed him on the field. Garen would never forget the smell of burning bodies when they'd stormed the camp, nor would he forget the monstrous man with an executioner's scythe and a missile launcher in place of hands. Garen had cleaved Urgot in half without a second thought, but the man had devoted his dying breath to vow revenge, something the Demacian hadn't taken seriously until now.

Guilt and the echo of Talon's parting words coursed through the soldier momentarily before he shook his head clear. There was no way he could have known this would happen because of something he did so long ago. Now as he paced through the much quieter halls of the Institute that led to the back entrance, of one thing he was certain: He'd cut Urgot down before; this time he would make sure the bastard never got up again.

Maybe it could be considered justice, hunting down Urgot, but it walked so near the line separating it from vengeance that he wasn't sure which it was, and he found that he didn't care. All the justification in Valoran for why the monstrous Champion should be punished paled in comparison to one simple fact: He'd hurt Katarina in an attempt to get at him, and Garen wasn't about to wait for a group of summoners to decide what should be done. If his exile taught him anything, it was that systems were flawed; what if no punishment ever came from the League? How long would it take? He wouldn't be able to live with himself if Urgot was allowed to roam free after whatever happened to Katarina.

And deep down in the dark part of him that he tried never to acknowledge, Garen knew that no matter what the League did or didn't do, legal retribution wouldn't satisfy him. It was time for him to battle his own demons; this fight, and all the future fights people might try to start, he would win them right now. He wanted to guarantee that when he was through with Urgot, no one would ever fuck with them again.

* * *

As was customary, a hot pot of tea sat on the table between LeBlanc and Jericho Swain, but along with it, a rare animosity separated the two masterminds as they sipped their drinks.

Pleasantries aside, LeBlanc plastered a polite smile on her face as she stated, "Jericho, I'm wondering what your reasoning was in sending that letter to Urgot."

"I only wanted to ensure that Katarina was removed from the picture as we previously discussed," he replied, matching her with a calculating grin of his own. His raven, Beatrice, who was perched on his shoulder, seemed to tilt her head and focus her gaze on the woman, studying her response.

Her smile slipped momentarily into frown. "By having him attack her _in_ the Institute of War?" the Deceiver chided. "Between this and having to get rid of Vayne to protect us, my resources are quite strained."

"It was never my intention to make things so difficult for you," Swain said with an innocent shrug. "Are you sure you have everything under control?"

Instantly the cunning smile returned to her face. "Oh please, Jericho. You sound almost as if you doubt me!"

"Never!" he exclaimed as the two shared a laugh. "But I'm afraid I must cut our meeting today short. I have business to attend to with the High Command."

"Is that so?" LeBlanc mused. "Until next time, then."

With a slight incline of his head, the Noxian Grand General stood, his bird flapping its wings at the disruption. "Yes, until then." As he reached for the door knob, Swain paused and turned back to look at the Deceiver once more. "Oh, and LeBlanc?" he added. "Should things become too overwhelming for you, I will be more than pleased to… help."

Smile disappearing altogether, LeBlanc retorted, "That won't be necessary. Good day, Jericho." Beatrice let out a short caw that echoed the low chuckle of her owner as he briskly left the office.

As soon as the man was gone, she scowled into her half-empty cup. She knew just as well as he that invoking the situation with Urgot was no accident; it was a test, a threat, and a promise. Since she'd committed to using Jericho Swain, the Deceiver knew someone as ambitious as he would need to be kept under close scrutiny, and she realized now she'd erred and let the leash grow lax. Her knuckles grew white as she clenched her cup. What a foolish mistake.

Taking a few deep breaths, LeBlanc willed her ancient mind into a state of calm so she could consider her options. It wasn't the first time she was forced to salvage a situation that strayed off course. The most important thing, she reminded herself, was that she came out on top.

* * *

True to the summoner's words, there were sporadic splotches of dried blood along the darkened hallway that led to the Eastern entrance of the building, the side closest to Noxus. Garen broke into a jog and descended the stairway, determined to find Urgot before the League mobilized. By his estimate, the machine-man couldn't have more than forty-five minutes to an hour's head start, and factoring in that he was wounded and slow to begin with, the Demacian was confident he would catch him.

With only a half-moon lighting the brick path, Garen wished he would have been clear-headed enough to take a lantern from the armory as well. It was difficult to tell if it was blood he was seeing or just dirt as the spots grew farther and farther apart, and he started to worry after ten minutes without seeing anything. But just as he slowed to a walk, from the corner of his eye, a green glow caught his eye.

The exhaustion that had crept into bones was driven away by the anger which came coursing back, and he fell into an easy run. It wasn't long before the Demacian neared the slower Champion, the sound of Urgot's metal legs scraping a path through the brush reaching the soldier's ears before he even saw him. Garen thought for a moment he would try to follow along behind the monster and wait for a moment to attack when the other appeared most vulnerable, but when was close enough to finally see the Champion, his adrenaline spiked in a biological plea for action.

He wasted no time; with Katarina's face in his mind, Garen drew his sword and burst through the trees into Urgot's path, coming up swinging behind the Noxian with a fierce cry. At the last second, Urgot heard his approach and lurched forward to miss being cut apart, letting out a surprised grunt as the tip of the sword still managed to cut through the thick skin of his back.

"I didn't expect to see you so soon," Urgot challenged, blocking Garen's incoming strikes with his bladed hand as he tried to put distance between himself and the Demacian. "I take it you got my message." The faint green glow of the machine on his back illuminated the barely closed gashes he sustained from Katarina and made the executioner look even more gruesome than usual.

An inhuman growl escaped the soldier's throat in response as he lunged toward his injured opponent again. Urgot stumbled back, the charge he'd been preparing going wide and bursting against Garen's left shoulder in a shower of acid that caught them both but forced the Demacian to disengage abruptly. As the mixture melted through the metal of his pauldron, the soldier frantically unbuckled the piece of armor just as another missile went hurtling into it, following the path left by the acid.

Using Garen's brief pause, Urgot rushed into the trees, increasing the distance between them and haphazardly firing shots of energy from his cannon behind him. The Demacian dodged the shots and pursued, closing the gap before the monster could prep another corrosive charge. With a cry to bolster his spirits, Garen suddenly pivoted on his heel to bring the full weight of his body into his strike, leaving a long gash across the Noxian's chest to match the one on his back.

Urgot let out a strangled, "No!" as the Demacian followed through again with another slash, then another, snapping through techmaturgical wires under his skin and forcing his mechanical legs to buckle. To close to dodge, Garen staggered back as a shot of energy blasted into his chest, followed by a missile which ricocheted harmlessly against his remaining pauldron before exploding in the air beside him. The monstrous Champion rose to his weakly functioning legs, only to have one seize up and quit moving completely, leaving the top-heavy man unbalanced.

His chest was singed and stinging from the energy blast, but Garen gritted his teeth and dashed in on the Noxian with a downward strike that, for a split second, met with the steel of Urgot's blade, before the force pulled his blade straight through it and the arm below it.

Garen couldn't help the twisted grin that took his face as the Noxian screamed, and he turned his blade upward to slice through the other arm at the elbow. Urgot could only sputter and cry out in pain in response to the Demacian's laugh.

"You thought you would get away with hurting Katarina?" the soldier asked, resting the flat of his sword on the executioner's shoulder.

"My revenge..." Urgot gurgled, "...I was going to...kill you..."

Hefting the borrowed blade over his head, Garen looked down on him with an uncharacteristic glint in his eye and said, "Too bad," before severing Urgot's head from his neck, which fell with a sickening splat onto the grass with blood pouring from the wound. Without the techmaturgical signals from the dead Champion's brain, the mechanical legs folded and the body followed the head to the ground.

The civilized side of the Demacian was content at the sight before him, but that was not the part of him in control. It started with a low chuckle in the back of his throat, but erupted into a fit of manic laughter that wracked his body and when his laughter finally faded, Garen raised his sword again and hacked at Urgot until blood and dirt drenched him and the body lay beneath him in so many pieces it was no longer recognizable.

A grin spread slowly across his face as his eyes alighted on the dismembered cannon that was once the Noxian's arm, and he placed it in middle of the pile of flesh. There as a soft hiss as steel passed through the tops of the charges and acid spilled across the mess that was once Urgot and in no time ate through it until all that remained was a bloody smear on the forest floor. Let them try and reanimate that.

Suddenly, the grin fell away and Garen shook his head to try and clear his mind. Hastily, he wiped his blade on his jacket before sheathing it and stumbling away from the disturbing scene he created.

* * *

Talon stood stiffly beside Katarina's bed, his hood back in a rare display of respect, looking on the ashen face of the woman he considered his sister, while Cassiopeia cried, clutching his hand. Hours passed before the medics allowed them in to see her, saying they'd been able to surgically and magically repair most of the internal damage from the stab, but even given the gravity of that wound, they were even more concerned with the burns; after what happened in Ionia, the deadliness of chemical warfare was devastatingly clear.

He hardly recognized her, with all the tubes that connected her to machines whose purpose he didn't quite understand except that they were helping to keep her alive. How could someone as strong as she look so breakable? The responsibility he felt for her condition was overwhelming and snapping at Garen was his way of displacing the guilt that gnawed at his own conscience; if he hadn't fought with her, if he'd never left, if she'd gone instead…

"This is all my fault," he divulged as he dropped Cassiopeia's hand. "We got in a fight before this happened and I left… If she doesn't wake up… I yelled at her, Cass, the last thing I said was so…"

Carefully gripping his face in her hands, Cassiopeia reprimanded, "Stop it! You didn't do this to her, and you know she would say the same! Besides _when_ she wakes up, you can apologize for your fight."

Talon nodded, then unexpectedly buried his face in the crook of her neck. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "Marcus's last order to me was to protect you two and I failed. I failed…" Tears trickled down the woman's distraught face into his hair as she wrapped him in a tight embrace.

"Hope I'm…not interrupting….anything…"

The two Champions pushed apart in surprise as Katarina's rasping voice drifted weakly from the bed.

Cassiopeia lunged at her sister sobbing, "Kat!", though Talon grabbed her before the snake woman could collapse on her injured stomach. Instead, she gently took her hand in her own and helped her sit up while Talon pulled a chair to sit beside her.

The red-head flashed them a faint grin. "Good to see… you two."

"How are you, um, feeling?" Talon choked out.

Closing her eyes, Katarina admitted, "Honestly… it hurts... everything just... hurts."

Face sympathetic, the snake-woman managed to say, "You're pretty heavily medicated, though."

"Medicated?" Katarina questioned. "Why?"

Talon and Cassiopeia exchanged a guilty glance before the assassin slowly replied, "You got burned pretty bad, Kat..."

The red-head was mute for a moment, then pulled her hand from Cass's to whisk aside the blanket covering her. From her feet to her hips and up onto her stomach, not an inch of skin showed through bandages; she stared for a moment with a blank expression and breathed a small, "Oh," before quickly pulling the blanket back over her and laying her head back onto her pillow.

"Kat-"

"I'm tired," she whispered. "Come back later, ok?"

Cassiopeia started to say something, but Talon shook his head and promised, "We will," pulling the snake-woman to the door, each sparing another worried look for their bed-ridden sister.

Katarina closed her eyes, now able to recall the acid and the excruciating pain, but with a surprising detachment. She thought about all the unsanctioned fighting she'd done in Ionia during the time leading up to the end of the Noxian occupation; the people that hadn't been killed by the biochemical acids and poisons Noxus deployed were forever changed, often disabled for life depending on the extent of their injuries.

Slowly the assassin calculated the timeline of her future. Even with the combined efforts of medical care and healing magic, it would take weeks just for all the muscle and skin to heal. Scarring would be thick and if they weren't careful, she would have problems simply walking. But if everything went well, in a few months she might be able to force herself to start training again. Though she might never be an assassin again, Katarina was determined to remain a threat. And as the medication pulled her back into unconsciousness, she wondered as an afterthought, if Garen would ever look at her the same.


	13. Coalesce

_GOODNESS THIS TOOK A WHILE. I'm sorry everyone! Final papers got in the way but school's done now, though, so things should be smooth sailing with the updates for now! My goal is to finish The Only Truth by the time school starts back up again. I don't know how realistic that is, but I'm gonna give it a shot. Thanks as always for your patience, support, critiques, and readership!_

* * *

_Coalesce_

* * *

"Sir, I can't let you go in there, not like that," the white-robed nurse stated, giving Garen a once-over with a wrinkled nose.

After a long walk back to the Institute of War, Garen proceeded directly to the south wing's infirmary, and found that Katarina had just been moved to the room from surgery, a nearly two hour ordeal that occurred during his absence. And now that he was so close to seeing her...

The Demacian wanted to argue, but upon seeing the state of his blood-stained clothes and catching a trace of the foul smell emanating from them, he grunted in reluctant understanding. Through the window of the door just beyond the nurse's shoulder, he could see Talon pacing in and out of his view as he presumably waited outside Katarina's room; Katarina... so close and still they were forced to wait. Giving the door a look of longing, the Demacian turned begrudgingly to leave the infirmary.

The halls were empty now that it was well into the middle of the night, but the service desks were always manned and Garen wearily filed the paperwork that would allow him a temporary room in the residence hall; the finer points of changing his status and obtaining permanent housing were the least of his concerns.

"Are you gonna need something else to wear, too?" the summoner who'd given him the room asked.

Garen cursed inwardly, tapping his room key impatiently against the counter. "Is there anything I can borrow?"

The summoner hopped from his chair with a scoff. "You Champions are lucky this place keeps all this shit around for you to use," he huffed as he disappeared into the nearby office. The Demacian leaned heavily on the desk, burying his face in his arms which rested on the counter, until the summoner returned nearly five minutes later holding a white cloth shirt and a pair of black pants. "Looks like it's your lucky day, big guy."

The Demacian laughed, a bitter, strangled thing, and took the clothes from the summoner with a muttered, "Thanks," before trudging to his room. He might be exiled from home with nothing to his name and the woman he cared about near death, but he possessed _just_ enough luck for a change of clothes.

Piece by piece, layers of grimy clothes were peeled away and dropped unceremoniously into the laundry chute until everything he owned was out of sight, and the hot water carried away the dirt and blood, reminders of his exile and the murder committed. Even after a battle, a shower had never felt as relieving as it did then. But Garen had a purpose and did not linger, throwing on the tight shirt and loose pants along with his boots and sword.

And now that he was finally ready, he hesitated.

It was barely over a week since he saw Katarina last, and in such a short time, he hardly recognized the person in the mirror, subtle though the changes were: A harsher glint in his eyes, a tightly coiled tension in his muscles, a piercing skepticism where once was a naïve sincerity, and, most frightening of all, the raw, all-consuming anger which had come on him so quickly he'd snapped. Following on the heels of his exile, the Demacian felt like he was losing control; maybe it would be best for Katarina if he didn't stick around.

But even with his misgivings trying their damnedest to pull him back, the Demacian flung open the door and strode purposefully toward the hospital. Selfish though it may have been, Garen wasn't going to let her go so easily. If she wanted him to leave, she would have to tell him herself.

Entering the white double doors to the infirmary, the soldier marched to the nurses' station straight ahead, where the same tired healer from before sat filing paperwork. "I'm back to see Katarina DuCouteau," he stated.

With a heavy sigh, the woman closed the file on which she worked and leaned over the counter to inspect him. Seeing that his state was much improved, she gave an approving nod, but replied, "Her last visitors left a little while ago, but it's far too late right now. She needs to sleep."

"I won't wake her up," he begged. "Please."

Taking in the pleading expression on his face, the nurse scrunched her face in consideration, threw a glance at the darkened window, then deflated with a sigh. "Fine, but if I think you're disturbing her at all, you're not getting back in here, understood? And you have to leave your weapons at the front!" The Demacian shook his head in the affirmative and hastily pulled off the belt which held his sword and sheath and left it a top the counter.

Heaving another sigh, she rose from her desk and shuffled to the door behind her desk where she pressed her palm against a glowing panel like the one he'd seen in the library. It beeped once in response and there was a click as it released the lock, and the nurse motioned Garen to pass.

It opened into a long hallway lined with separate rooms and dimly lit from above, the floor and walls a harsh white that sent a chill down the soldier's spine. After she ensured the door was shut securely behind them, the nurse approached the first door on the left and eased it open without a sound.

He didn't realize he was holding his breath until, when he passed the threshold, it rushed out in a quiet whimper as finally, finally, he saw her. The nurse shook her head and the door clicked shut behind her, but the Demacian was too absorbed to notice while he closed the distance between himself and Katarina, who slept soundly, her face tilted toward him and lips parted slightly; the ache to kiss her was almost unbearable.

Instead, he stooped over to ghost a trembling hand across her cheek, his touch lingering for a moment before it withdrew as he collapsed in on himself, fingers pressed tightly against his eyes in an effort to keep the threatening sting in them from spilling. Slowly, he sank into the chair next to her bedside and laid his head on his crossed arms that rested in the space next to her body, causing her to stir though she did not wake. It wasn't comfortable, but he never wanted to leave her side again.

* * *

"...Garen?"

He couldn't recall falling asleep, but at the sound of her voice floating through the fog of his sleep Garen jerked awake in surprise. The faintest hints of the sunrise were creeping in through the cracks of the window shades, illuminating Katarina's sleepy green eyes which were peering into his. The confused expression on her face melted away into a slight smile as he startled into wakefulness.

"Katarina?" he breathed. Dreaming... was he dreaming? Breathless, the soldier stretched a tentative hand to caress her cheek, and bit back a cry when she did not disappear under his touch. Her smile widened but as she opened her mouth to speak, Garen stopped her with a kiss that mirrored their very first, reckless and desperate, full of longing and fear and excitement.

Katarina held loosely onto the front of his shirt as he kissed her forehead and cheeks, her nose and neck, her name falling like a mantra from his lips all the while; finally she pushed weakly against his chest, chuckling, "Quit... you're making me blush."

Garen pulled back just enough to look into her eyes and gushed, "I... I'm so sorry. For everything, Katarina, I'm so sor-"

"Garen-"

"No, please, I-I, this is all my fault," he continued, dropping his gaze to the floor. "Urgot... he only did this to get back at me. I never thought-"

"Stop," she interrupted, tugging on the cloth entwined in her fingers to instigate another kiss, which he obliged. "Apology accepted. It's been a pretty... rough week, though," she admitted, then added with a grin, "but... this helps."

Garen choked out a laugh and couldn't help briefly pressing his lips to hers again. "If I'd just come sooner, you wouldn't be in here."

Katarina shook her head. "You don't think I knew the risks... of being with you? I can take care of myself. I just... shouldn't have been caught off guard. But, I'll be ok. Urgot was a fool not to kill me... because if the League doesn't get to him first..." she trailed off, her threat clear, but earned a grimace from the soldier.

"Urgot's been... taken care of already," he muttered, dropping back into the chair.

A quizzical look passed her sleepy face, quickly replaced by one of surprise, then satisfaction. "You got rid of him?"

"I... yes."

The Noxian's lips twitched in amusement, but only for a moment before she regarded him seriously. "Why'd you do it? It's... not like you," she commented, worry coloring her words.

His brow furrowed in an incredulous stare, the soldier retorted, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, "I did it because I had to."

After a failed attempt at stifling a yawn, Katarina innocently murmured, "But why?"

And as he considered it, suddenly, Garen felt his knees go weak, and his heart began to beat erratically against his chest. There were a number of specific reasons he could give as to why he was compelled to kill Urgot. After all, she'd nearly been killed, and it was somewhat justifiable; maybe because he thought she'd have done the same, and because he'd do anything for her. But he knew, and maybe she did too, that all these things could be tied to one simple truth.

"Because I..."

Katarina raised an eyebrow; he licked his lips and tried again.

"Well..."

Her eyes were piercing now, but he couldn't hold her gaze.

"...I just had to."

For a fleeting moment, she looked disappointed, but the assassin shrugged it away nonchalantly. "Ok. Will you tell them to tone down the medication for me?" she yawned. "I wanna be able to... stay awake longer. It's not helping the pain much anyway. So... I guess you can leave if you want to..." she added.

With a sigh, Garen took her hand in his own and rose to press a soft kiss against her lips. "I'm not going anywhere unless you make me."

She gave him a sly smile before closing her eyes and mumbling, "I knew you'd say that."

Only a few minutes passed before she was asleep once again, leaving the Demacian to sit with his thoughts. Being on the Fields of Justice gave many Champions the impression that they were invincible. After all, death only lasted for a minute at the most. Even after fighting for Demacia outside of the League and killing hundreds of Noxian soldiers who would never rise again, death never seemed like a possibility; it was never so real to him as it was now.

Just as he'd taken Urgot's life, Katarina had nearly been permanently taken from him. How he would've reacted then, he couldn't fathom, but he would've never taken the chance to tell her how he truly felt. If his tongue-tied reaction was any indication, maybe he never would.

How could it possibly be so hard to utter such a short little phrase?

Garen let out a yawn of his own, but instead of laying back down, he shambled to the locked ward door and knocked. There were quick footsteps and the sound of the door releasing before it swung open.

"Is everything alright?" the nurse, a different one from before, questioned. She was a sullen looking woman, older than the last with her fading blonde hair pulled back into an austere bun common for Demacian women.

"Oh, yeah, she's fine," the Champion assured. "She wanted the medication turned down though. Can you do that?"

The healer frowned. "Miss DuCouteau right? She'd be in more pain if we do, but if she really wants it, I'll make a note in her file to ask her next time we go in to change her wraps."

"About that, can you tell me the extent of her injuries?" Garen asked.

Indicating Garen to follow her to the front desk, the nurse picked out Katarina's file from a stack and scanned it briefly. "Right, she suffered a stab wound to the lower abdomen, but it was a pretty clean cut and they were able to heal most of the internal damage from that in surgery. She does have third degree chemical burns around her right thigh and the back of her left knee, though."

With a sinking heart, the Demacian probed, "And... how long is it going to take her to get better?"

"Well, I have to say, she's lucky she's a League Champion," the nurse commented. "The Institute possesses the most advanced healers and medical techmaturgy in Valoran, and after the Ionia-Noxus conflict two years ago, we've a much better handle on treating chemical burns."

"So..."

"_So_," she finished, "she should be up and running in a few weeks. Maybe less if she's particularly tenacious."

A smile of relief eased the soldier's face. "She's definitely that," he grinned.

"Cute," the nurse replied dryly, shelving Katarina's file. "Is she your wife or something?"

"Wha-no!" he stammered, taking a few steps back toward the ward.

The healer rolled her eyes and placed her hand on the door's unlocking panel. They'll be going in there to change her bandages in a couple of hours. You'll have to leave then."

Garen merely nodded in understanding as he rushed back into Katarina's room and away from the irritable nurse. Sighing, he slumped back into the chair and stretched out uncomfortably, considering the surprisingly good news the nurse had given him. A month wasn't so long, and if he knew Katarina at all, she accept that deadline as a challenge to be beaten.

For a few minutes, he watched the rise and fall of her chest, his mind feeling more at peace than it had in days, and it wasn't long until he too fell into darkness.

* * *

"Thank you for making time to see me on such short notice High Councilor Kolminye," Jarvan IV confirmed as he seated himself on the other side of her desk.

LeBlanc resisted the urge to reach for her staff and permanently wipe the smug smile from the Prince's face; instead, she steeled her features and replied, "Certainly. You mentioned you had something urgent you wished to discuss?"

Adjusting the satchel he wore over his shoulder, Demacia's crown prince leaned forward and revealed his reason for coming. "I want to negotiate the induction of myself, Shyvana the Half-Dragon, and Luxanna the Lady of Luminosity back into the League of Legends."

With a frown that was not at all faked, she countered, "I'm sorry, but I was informed by the king that you and the others were to be suspended until he indicated otherwise. Is this all you wanted to talk about?"

"No! I thought that might be the case so I was going to offer a trade-"

"Sorry," she interrupted with a sneer, "I do not meddle in the affairs of affiliated city-states. "

At that, Jarvan plunged his hand into his satchel and thrust a familiar leather-bound notebook across the desk into her hands. "Not even when the future of Valoran is at stake?"

It took every ounce of willpower LeBlanc had in her ancient mind to show confusion instead of the surprise that passed through her. "What is this?" she intoned, though she'd known instantly, having penned it herself.

"It's the journal of the Black Rose's leader, the Champion LeBlanc," he stated. "I know you told my father that the Institute thinks she's dead since she hasn't shown for matches, but I think if you read this, you'd see that she's far too clever and powerful. I think... I think she is making play for power from within the Institute of War."

Thoughts racing, LeBlanc hastily calculated the numerous possibilities that could arise from this unexpected occurrence; most would likely end in her being revealed. But there were a few paths that just might work...

She flipped open the journal and pretended to scan it while Jarvan continued, "I want what's best for Valoran, not just Demacia. Right now Noxus has far more League presence than any other city-state; if Swain wanted to, Noxus could rise against the Institute and start another Rune War."

"And why would you think Jericho Swain would do something like that?" she probed. "Such a thing would be punishable by death."

"He's a part of the Black Rose!" Jarvan exclaimed. "It's written in that journal."

LeBlanc raised an eyebrow. "Is this even reliable?"

Growing more disgruntled, the Prince frowned, "It was... recovered from her personal estate. It's definitely hers."

"I see," she mused, setting it aside with a small thump. "I believe it was very noble of you to bring this to my attention, especially since you went against your father to do so." Jarvan straightened ever so slightly and she suppressed a grin. "I will certainly consult with High Councilor Kiersta about this and we will make the appropriate decisions to ensure the safety of the Valoran."

"And will we be able to rejoin the League?" he pressed.

She put on a thoughtful face. "Well I would love nothing more than to bring you three back in for such a service. I do believe loyalty should be rewarded, but I must respect your father's decision as the King of Demacia." After a pause, she sympathetically added, "His judgment is the only thing keeping me from letting you in as representatives right now."

A spark flared in the Prince's eyes and she knew she'd struck a chord.

"I would do what I could to protect the Institute of War if Noxus were to invade," Jarvan swore. "Champion or not. But I will convince him. Is there any way you could speak to him as well?" Jarvan assumed his most diplomatic smile; he'd convinced her thus far, just a little more.

"I'm glad I can count on you to do what's right, Jarvan," she acknowledged. "You seem to have a good vision of justice. But yes, I could speak to your father and see if he will reconsider."

Both Champions gave each other a nod of understanding to repress the urge to shout in triumph at how everything seemed to fall right into place.

* * *

A loud knock roused both Garen and Katarina from their sleep, the latter letting out a groan of exasperation at the sight of two healers and the cart of bandages and ointment between them.

"None of that now," chided the woman pushing the cart. "It must be done."

The other healer, a younger woman whose face was covered by a surgical mask, turned to Garen and said in a muffled voice, "Sir, you'll have to leave the room."

"Are you sure I can't stay?" he questioned. "I won't be in the way-"

"Actually... just for this, maybe you could...?" Katarina interjected softly, a sheepish look on her face.

Taken aback, the Demacian murmured, "You really want me to?"

Propping herself up into a sitting position, the assassin admitted, "I'd rather you did. For this anyway."

"Ok, sure," he nodded, giving her hand a squeeze before moving out of the healers' way. "I'll be back later."

"If you see Talon and Cassiopeia, tell them to come see me!" she called at his retreating form, receiving a nod accompanied by a smile in response. Garen watched for a moment from hall window as the healers helped Katarina to the edge of the bed before the younger nurse drew the curtain. Acknowledging healers as he passed, the soldier grabbed his weapon and, deciding to make the most of things, made his way out of the infirmary wing toward the Institute's mess hall.

Rather than the typical glances of disinterest he received from the other Champions, some looked on in mild curiosity as he made his way to an empty table with a plate full of food. Even Champions that he'd rarely had dealings with regarded him differently: a lengthy glare from the Barbarian King, an uncomfortably seductive wave from the Widowmaker, and the heavy, unblinking gazes of the Kinkou ninjas. Whatever news had garnered this attention, it certainly traveled fast.

From his location across from the cafeteria's main entrance, he watched summoners and Champions bustle about until a flash of gold caught his attention. Jarvan seemed to pause at the door, scanning the crowd until his eyes alighted on Garen and he marched to where his former commander sat.

"I've been looking for you. Glad to see you're doing well," the prince remarked, pulling up a seat. "How's Katarina treating you? Feeling at home in Noxus yet?" When Garen merely looked down at his plate in silence, he added, "Relax, I'm not here just to give you hell."

"You have every right to be mad," the soldier murmured. "And I'm sorry that somehow everyone got caught up in my mess."

Jarvan leaned forward over the table, propping his chin on his hands. "I know you are. I did warn you though, that it would only cause trouble."

"Even when I tried I couldn't stay away from her. Maybe I could have tried harder, but I didn't," he admitted. "I knew what the consequences would be, but I honestly never thought others would be harmed. You, Shyvana... Lux, I'm sorry, and I'll never be able to apologize enough."

The prince appraised him for a moment, before sighing again, in a softer tone, "I know."

Finally, the faintest of smiles lit Garen's face and for a moment the two friends seemed to relax in each others company. Then, slapping his hand down onto the table, Jarvan exclaimed, "However, some good did come of it! I've realized many things in the last week."

The prince paused and Garen recognized his old cue. "And that would be?" he inquired.

After looking around to ensure that no one was listening, Jarvan motioned his friend to lean in closer and murmured, "I can see now that Demacia is broken, and it's my duty as the crown Prince to fix her."

The soldier could only gape at his former leader apprehensively. "Not that I disagree on any particular point," he started carefully, "but what exactly do you mean?"

"Look Garen, you've been my most loyal and trustworthy friend for as long as I can remember. If I said that I had a plan to set things right, and maybe even get you back into Demacia, would you support me?" Jarvan asked. "I need someone I can trust to have my back if things get... messy."

"And the likelihood of that?" the soldier pressed. "Besides, what can I even do for you? I'm forbidden from entering Demacian territory; you'd be better off asking an official Demacian."

"You're significantly less compliant since leaving Demacia," the armored man noted with a laugh. "To answer your question, I don't anticipate that things would ever fall completely out of my control, but it is possible it won't work. And I know you're not obligated to do anything for me anymore, but as a friend, I just want to know that if this plan did go completely sour, you would help me if I asked for it."

The soldier wasn't going to give in so easily. "So why not ask a Demacian? I mean, you could order Xin Zhao to help you, or I bet Fiora would do anything if you promised to restore her family's status."

In a fashion that was not at all kingly, Jarvan wrinkled his nose and scoffed, "Fiora? Please. Even if her ego weren't so insufferable, she wouldn't be the right person for this particular job. And Xin is... too much my father's man. I really needed someone more outside the system. Hence you."

"Then... why not Vayne?" Garen suggested, wracking his brain for excuses. "And what exactly are you planning that you can't trust the King's right-hand man?" It was always like this with Jarvan: So many questions, not enough answers.

"Where have you been the last week, a cave?" the prince retorted. "She turned up dead in a Demacian alley earlier today."

Eyes widening in surprise, the soldier stammered, "Are you serious? What happened?"

"Not sure, but it seems like her vigilantism got the best of her," Jarvan shrugged. "So, anyway, that rules her out."

"You know she was looking for LeBlanc too, right?" Garen injected.

It was the prince's turn to look surprised. "I did not. Very interesting." He considered it in silence and Garen thought perhaps that was the end of the conversation, until Jarvan nodded, stating, "That settles it. You're the only one that can do this for me."

Garen narrowed his eyes, his face twisted in concern. "You never told me what it is I'll be doing, and the last time that happened, I got stabbed, you disappeared for two months, and came back with two Noxians."

Raising his hand in a three-finger salute, Jarvan joked, "I swear on the Scout's Code that I will not disappear this time."

"You're embarrassing and that doesn't answer my question."

"So is that a yes?"

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Garen huffed, "Damn it, Jarvan. Yes, I'll help you if you need it."

"Excellent," the prince boomed as he reached into the satchel at his side, procuring a pen and paper. "First things first, I need you to write a letter to your mother."

* * *

Garen traveled through the halls back towards the infirmary, considering the letter he'd just written. Jarvan had dictated nearly every aspect of it, to the point where the former commander was certain he was only using him to get to his mother; she was certainly a prominent member of the Demacian Council, the legislative body that kept the king in check. But even so, as the prince he was essentially above the Council. Why would he need Lilia's influence?

After checking back in at the front desk of the hospital, the Demacian was startled as he pushed past the bustling healers through the ward door and saw that he was not the only person waiting to see Katarina: A silver-haired woman leaning with her back against the wall opened her red eyes to focus an intense stare at him, straightening as he neared.

"You must be the Demacian who managed to sway the great Katarina DuCouteau," she stated, thrusting a gloved hand at him and shaking his in a vice-like grip. "I'm Riven."

"Garen," he introduced. "How do you know Katarina?"

She had a very resolute air about her, reflected in her unflinching voice as she replied, "I served briefly alongside her in Ionia, before Noxus started using Zaunite chemicals in their attacks. I've seen what it does firsthand, so I wanted to offer my sympathies."

A Noxian, then. "Are you still a member of the military?" he asked hesitantly.

Riven let out a short laugh. "No. My official League title is The Exile, if that tells you anything."

"I see." The two soldiers lapsed into silence, but after several minutes passed and the door to Katarina's room remained closed, Garen offered, "Me and Katarina are exiles too."

"I heard she was," the red-eyed woman acknowledged. "I thought Demacia was a little more forgiving than Noxus though."

A frown tugged his face downward. "Hardly. Well, I guess no one is actively hunting me down at least. But really, Demacia and Noxus are pretty similar in a lot of ways."

Something like the ghost of smile flitted across her face, grim though it was. "Interesting, the things the military can teach you," she reflected. "So how is that even after being indoctrinated into the Demacian way, you and Katarina became close?"

"Oh, well, we were both representatives of our city-states, so we had political dealings all throughout the Kalamanda ordeal, and Prince Jarvan III commanded me to assist her in researching the source of the group framing Demacia and Noxus for Kalamanda." Riven looked at him skeptically, so with a blush creeping up his cheeks he added, "She's was always rather... charming, and breathtaking on the battlefield."

With a nod that both surprised and confused Garen, the Noxian agreed, "She is that. Kalamanda was going on around the same time the Noxus-Ionia conflict. No wonder she seemed so distracted all the time; and here I thought it was just the travel."

Garen let out an awkward cough and let silence settle between them until, minutes later, the door opened and the two nurses pushed their now empty cart out into the hall.

"Would you like some time with her alone?" the Demacian asked Riven politely, gesturing toward the door.

"Yes, I would appreciate that," she accepted. Pausing with her hand on the door knob, the silver-haired woman added, "In case I do not see you again, it was a pleasure to meet you. And it is not often I say that to a Demacian." With that, Riven stepped into Katarina's room, leaving Garen to puzzle over the mysterious Noxian soldier.

* * *

Though her mind danced with triumph, LeBlanc steeled Vessaria's features into one of seriousness. With her own journal in her possession, it was an easy task to convince Kiersta and the rest of the Senior Summoners that the Institute of War needed to take a more active stance in the world.

Clearing her throat to silence the gathered summoners and city-state representatives, LeBlanc turned to the techmaturgical equipment that would be broadcasting her glorious rise to power across the continent. "Citizens of Valoran, it is with heavy hearts that High Summoner Kiersta Mandrake and myself come before you today. Three days ago, a fine League Champion, Shauna Vayne the Night Hunter of Demacia, was killed, a tragedy which Demacian officials are still investigating.

"In addition, last night the League Champion Katarina the Sinister Blade was attacked by another Champion within the Institute itself." She paused for a moment at the collective gasp from the audience, and received a nod to go on from an uncharacteristically serious Kiersta.

"It is well known that fighting within the Institute's wall, and political fighting outside of the Fields of Justice, when discovered, are punishable crimes by Institute law by which every city-state represented has agreed to abide," LeBlanc continued. "From information the Institute has discovered, both attacks were the result of political plays by a particular city-state to undermine and destabilize the authority of the Institute, an act which could endanger all of Valoran."

"As always, the Institute of War makes all decisions with the best interests of Valoran at heart. Because of this blatant defiance of the Institute's authority and the immediate threat to our citizens, the High Council of Equity and the entire body of Senior Summoners have motioned to hereby restrict the rights of each city-state until further notice."

A small buzz of conversation rose but she pressed on, "We will dispatch groups of our most highly recognized summoners to each of the eight city-states to further elicit cooperation. Emissaries serving in the League Assembly will be consulted as soon as possible in order to disseminate information regarding the current situation, discuss the rights of their city-state, and begin negotiations."

The crowd was growing louder but LeBlanc let out a booming, "Silence!" and a hush settled over the assembly once again.

"Rest assured, we do not intend for this to last forever," she stated. "It is only until we can be sure that the citizens of Valoran are safe from harm, and offending city-states atone for their crimes. We value the support Valoran has given to the Institute of War, and we intend to fulfill our task of protecting you. We thank everyone for their time, and are eager to begin rectifying this terrible situation."

As she turned away, the assembly erupted into noise, questions and insults, support and threats; LeBlanc heard none of it. These fools, putting one organization in charge of the entirety of the continent. Yes, some city-states would be difficult to control, but it was nothing a little diplomatic force couldn't handle. With the power of the Institute behind her, Swain would have no choice but to support her now, and of course, she had an unwitting new ally in the form of Jarvan IV.

She couldn't be certain of her victory yet; the coming weeks promised a high degree of turmoil which would have to be weathered with the utmost caution. Still, she strode confidently back to her office, relishing the feeling of finally, after decades of waiting, scheming, and positioning, controlling the world.

* * *

"It's been a long time, Riven," Katarina greeted, much more energized after the bout of healing. "I wish I didn't look as pathetic as I do now."

The Exile held up a hand in deference. "You know as well as I the horror of chemical damage. Be proud that you look as well as you do."

"So formal," Katarina joked. "Forget about Ionia for one second and lighten up."

With a look that bordered between incredulity and amusement, the red-eyed Noxian visibly relaxed and murmured, "You know I cannot forget what happened there. But you... You've changed so much since we last talked. What exactly happened since then?"

It took a while, but Katarina recounted the entirety of her search for her father, the investigation into the League, and the Black Rose. The soldier listened intently, her solemn face unchanging as she took in the details, prompting for more details, until by the time Katarina was finished, she sat in a stunned silence.

"Unbelievable," she whispered.

"Tell me about it," Katarina scoffed. "But now I'm all laid up in the hospital for the next couple of weeks, and then I have to get back into training."

Riven shook her head and rested her bare hand on the assassin's. "You really shouldn't push it. What could possibly happen in the next two weeks?"

"Anything!" the red-head growled. "LeBlanc is too clever, and a High Councilor might be in league with her. So far, all we've done is barely kept up with her, played the victim. Not anymore. We need to act!"

A fire sparked in Riven's eyes. She believed wholeheartedly in the true Noxian vision that strength was the only thing that mattered in measuring the worth of a person. There was no honor in the underhanded political games that had been played with the lives of the Valoran citizens; LeBlanc, Swain, they didn't deserve the power they held.

"What do you suggest?" she asked.

Katarina grinned, "We need to get everyone together and form a plan of attack. No more hiding, no more political bullshit. If they want to take over Valoran, they're gonna have to get through us first."

For the first time in over a year, Riven felt a pull toward a cause, a reason to fight. Rising to her feet with a determined look on her face, she smiled, "When do we start?"


	14. Revolution by Design

_Um, I had to fix some wibbly wobbly timey wimey stuff in the last chapter. Jarvan said they found Vayne a few days after Garen's exile and while that is technically true, I wanted it to be, more specifically, earlier that day. So yah. Sorry everyone I dun messed up lol. _

* * *

_Revolution by Design_

* * *

It was difficult at first, dealing with house arrest and the anti-magic cuffs, but Luxanna Crownguard was far from inactive. Usually reverse engineering magic came easily to her, but the cuffs had just enough techmaturgical workings inside it to slow her down for a couple of days; the tracking device inside had been especially troublesome to work around and tamper with, but once altered and combined with the ditzy personality she faked for the public, the world was still very open to her. Even though the mage was once a spy for Demacia, when she put on her silly act, even the soldiers guarding her didn't take her seriously. Degrading, perhaps, but it had its uses.

As such, she was able to spend much of her time in the capital city's library brushing up on the delicate inner workings of the Demacian government, animatedly telling the guards she wanted to be a council member, just like her mother. This was far from the truth, but if there was anything special operations had taught her, it was how to lie, though, after a few days in her mother's presence, she might have said anything to get out of the house.

The mage dreaded spending time with Lilia, even if it wasn't as terrible as anticipated. Granted, the Crownguard matron didn't speak to her for the first two days after learning the truth about the ordeal, which helped significantly, but that didn't stop her mother from huffing or moping around the manor in a silence that spoke volumes. However, the days following saw Lux develop a new appreciation for her mother as Lilia pressed her for details, searching for something, anything within the story that might exonerate her children.

The mage might have just told her mother the same tired tale over and over if Jarvan hadn't approached her a few days after the incident with an idea to supplant himself upon the Demacian throne and overhaul Demacia's standards. _Technically_ it could be considered treason, but Jarvan was already the next in line; they were just going to hasten the process slightly.

Step one was to win Lilia's sympathies and plant the seeds of King Jarvan III's incompetence, the most difficult part, in her opinion. Her mother, like many older Demacians, tended to be rigid in thought, though her father's death she'd seemed to soften her over the years. Even so, Mrs. Crownguard was still highly regarded within the Demacian legislature, an influential member even, making her perfect for what Jarvan had in mind.

Lux knew the success of the entire operation rested on her shoulders. It wasn't enough just to tell Lilia what happened, she had to sell it. Downplay their actions, emphasize the consequences, play into the maternal instinct that existed somewhere under that hard Demacian shell. It would snowball soon enough as long as Lilia came to all the right conclusions herself.

Lux couldn't help the crafty smile the crossed her face as one of the Vanguard soldiers knocked on her bedroom door and announced the Prince's arrival. Jarvan III thought an army was power? No, words were power.

"How is my favorite Crownguard?" Jarvan IV greeted.

"Isn't that spot reserved for my brother?" she quipped, joining him in the hall.

Escorting her down the stairs to the manor's study, Jarvan grinned, "Only when he's around." With a wave of his hand, the soldiers left the room.

Lux rolled her eyes as she fell into the couch. "Speaking of Garen, did you see him when you were at the League?"

"Sure did, and he wrote the letter," he stated, brandishing the folded paper stashed in his bag and passing it to the Crownguard girl for her inspection. Her blue eyes scanned it quickly and, seeing that it was as she dictated, folded it, setting it beside her.

"Looks good," she nodded and lowered her voice to barely a whisper. "That will be helpful in getting mother on our side, especially coming from Garen."

Jarvan leaned forward, his chin propped against his hand and an uncharacteristically grim look on his face. "Do you think I should be doing this? Is this the right way?" he asked, searching her sharp eyes. "You're brilliant, Lux. If you think it's a bad idea, tell me now."

Luxanna allowed her smile to fade and her brow to furrow as she hesitated in answering. Jarvan was one of the few Demacians who recognized her aptitude and treated her as she deserved, actually listened to her. With a single word, she could alter the fate of the man before her and she briefly felt the same giddiness that coursed through her during the most dangerous reconnaissance missions; unlike in her youth, when everything was taken from her by force, she now had the power to irrevocably change everything.

Her beloved Demacia...

"Yes," she murmured. "It will work. If he won't listen to reason like you say, then this is the option we must take. And I will make sure that it works."

The Prince nodded and relaxed against the cushions. "Why are you going along with this anyway?" he questioned. "It was only an idea but you really seem to want to do this."

Twining her fingers together and clasping them behind her head in a girlish manner, Lux let her radiant smile assume its familiar position on her face. "I love Demacia, I really do. But she's going down a bad path and you, and I, and every citizen in the nation can see it." Her eyes hardened and her smile seemed to lose its warmth as she finished, "We have the power to make it better, so we have the responsibility too. I could make it so children wouldn't have to join the military..."

Her voice had begun to crack and Jarvan gave her a sympathetic look, but before he could speak, Lux, her mask once again fixed firmly on her face, grinned, "But you're doing it for her right? Your lady love?"

A booming laugh escaped him. "Lady love? That's a little outdated. But... yes," he admitted.

"So romantic," she giggled. "Just like Garen."

The Prince wrinkled his nose. "If you say so."

* * *

"It would seem LeBlanc is declaring war," Swain muttered to himself as the League broadcast of her speech ended. "She honestly believes this will work?"

His musings were cut short as a firm knock on the door announced Darius's arrival. "Grand General, what will Noxus's response be?" he questioned bluntly, his empty hand twitching at his side for the handle of his axe.

"Nobody will control Noxus," Swain replied, his tone even. "Not even the League. We did not take control of the nation by chance. We took it because we are the strongest. The time approaches when we will demonstrate to the world the power of Noxus."

Darius was impassive as ever as he stated, "There are those in Noxus who still do not support your ascension to power. If you do not act soon, they might think you... weak for allowing this to happen."

The hint of threat was clear enough to Swain, who merely laughed. "Then I would challenge those who question my abilities as I challenged Darkwill." The burly soldier seemed to accept his words with a nod, so the Tactician continued, "Has Draven returned to Noxus?"

"He will be here shortly, General," he replied, saluting and turning on heel to leave the office. "I will make sure he sees you right away."

Once alone, Jericho rested his forehead against his fingertips and let out a tired sigh. He'd never met anyone that matched his cunning until LeBlanc entered his life, and being on the receiving end of her antics was more tiring than he could have imagined. But her actions now seemed so out of place. What was he not seeing? Did she actually make a mistake by moving too early?

"Have no fear, Draven's here!"

Insufferable.

"Draven," he acknowledged, standing to greet the Glorious Executioner and his brother as they shut the door behind them. "I wanted to talk to you about your previous orders."

The cocky man flashed his characteristic smirk. "Kill the DuCouteau's? I didn't even get the chance to go back for Katarina after Urgot fucked her up."

Darius sighed at his brother's lack of propriety, but Swain simply waved it away. "Yes, indeed. I'm changing the plan slightly."

"Draven still gets to kill them, right?" the moustached man pressed, earning an elbow in the back from his brother, who hissed, "Shut up."

"Don't worry, Draven. I want you to have your moment," Jericho promised. "But I need you to wait."

With a frown, the larger of the brothers stated, "Sir, she's in the Institute infirmary. Weak. It would be simple to kill her off now."

"I don't want to kill a cripple," Draven interjected. "That's boring."

"Quiet!" Swain hissed. "Trust me, she will not remain a cripple long. You'll get your show, in front of the biggest crowd you can imagine."

The Executioner furrowed his brow skeptically. "And how do you know that?"

His near infinite patience wearing thin, the Grand General shook his head and replied, "I am called the Master Tactician for a reason. Noxus will not sit idly by as the Institute of War declares martial law, so it will be for many other city-states. We will be ready and we will be the ones to prosper."

The brothers were quiet momentarily, until Draven asked, "So... there's going to be a war?"

Neither could see the sinister grin forming behind Swain's collar, but his tone made it evident enough. "It is extremely likely, yes. Be ready for it. Dismissed."

Each gave a salute, Darius's crisp and Draven's exaggerated, and turned to leave. Once a safe distance from the General's office, the Hand of Noxus snarled, "Show some respect for the Grand General, would you?"

"Ah, shutup, Darius," he muttered dismissively. "Do you think what he said is true? Will there be a war?"

Darius heaved a sigh, his age showing in the lines clearly etched on his face and the tired darkness under his eyes. "Probably. Swain hasn't been wrong about anything yet." Always fighting, always killing. As much as he enjoyed it, sometimes even he wanted nothing more than to sleep.

For the younger of the Blood Brothers, the prospect of war had the opposite effect: His eyes seemed to shine as he grinned, "Then it'll be the perfect chance to share Draven with the rest of the world."

Darius resisted the urge to punch his brother in his cocky face. Often, he wondered if it was his own fault Draven was like this, coming from the time when they were starving boys on the streets of Noxus; he'd shielded his younger brother as best he could from the cruelties of the world, filled the boy's head with fantasies while he killed and threatened and stole. Back then, he was sure every day was going to be their last so he'd tried to make it bearable for Draven, but by his own strength they survived, and the elder put his talents to a better use in the army. Darius had hoped his brother would carve out a respectable living in the military as well, but Draven didn't even make it six months. "Too boring," he claimed and went on to become the showy, incorrigible executioner of Noxus.

Yes, the people of Noxus loved him for his bloody shows, but Darius knew, for all his brother's skill in the art of killing, he wouldn't make it in a war; he didn't respect it, didn't believe he could really _die_. The soldier shook his head, and clapped his heavy hand on his brother's shoulder without a word. They were men now, and it had stopped being his job to protect Draven a long time ago.

* * *

"So who isn't here?" Katarina demanded, scanning the crammed room. Garen squirmed uncomfortably, nearly stepping on Cassiopeia's tail in the process and receiving a glare from Talon next to her. On the other side of the assassin's bed Riven stood in front of the window, the setting sun behind her silhouetting her body. Her arms were crossed and her hard eyes shifted suspiciously to Nasus beside her. The canine creature was hunched so the room could accommodate his large frame, and cowering slightly at his feet the yordle summoner Octavius who aided him in the Archives.

"Everyone we could get on short notice is here," Garen chimed.

"Good," she nodded. "Ok everyone who is here knows something about what's been happening so far, and I brought you here to discuss some very important details so we can make a plan."

Talon sighed, "Well what do you have in mind? It's not like we know any more now than we did a few days ago, and you're in the hospital."

Nasus's flowing voice responded in kind, "It does sound rather hopeless, Miss DuCouteau."

But in spite of their protests, Katarina let out a ferocious grin. "That's what you think. I haven't even gotten to tell you the new things yet! So, has everyone heard what happened in Demacia?" As she anticipated everyone except Garen shook their heads. "Well, a mysterious summoner leaked very personal information about Demacian Champions to the king right? Very much illegal, and done under the pretense of avoiding a Rune War." Looking momentarily at Garen, she added, "Specifics aside, Demacia ended up pulling four of their strongest Champions from the League roster."

"That doesn't make sense," Cassiopeia interrupted. "Losing League presence could provoke a war."

"This is true," Nasus murmured. "Why would the King of Demacia believe such a thing?"

All eyes glanced momentarily to Garen, who shrugged, "Jarvan would be the one to ask about that."

"Let me tell you why," Katarina interjected. "Vayne told me, the source was so reliable, he would have no reason to disbelieve it."

A concerned expression was growing on Cassiopeia's face, but Talon rolled his eyes and remarked, "Who could be that important?"

"A High Councilor, that's who," she responded, receiving shocked looks from everyone in the room. "Vessaria Kolminye."

With a solemn shake of her head, Riven finally spoke up, cutting straight to the point. "That is terrible, but what does this have to do with LeBlanc? She's the real reason we're here, right?"

"Wait a second," Garen blurted. "Did Vayne try to confront High Councilor Kolminye about this?"

The Exile shot him a hard look for his interruption, but Katarina, a confused look on her face, replied, "Yeah, she came and talked to me right before Urgot attacked me. Said she was going to get answers from Vessaria herself."

"Well, she's dead now," he explained. "Jarvan said they found her in Demacia this morning. So if she turned up dead after confronting Vessaria, who just declared martial law..."

A hush settled about the room as each of the Champions absorbed the new information, until finally Cassiopeia ventured a quiet, "Then Vessaria might be working with LeBlanc?"

Katarina bit her lip nervously, but nodded. "It's possible, right? LeBlanc wanted power, the Institute has power."

"More possible corruption within the Institute of War," Nasus lamented. "Runeterra approaches war now because of this. The cycle of Life and Death would be completely unbalanced."

"We can't just make baseless accusations though," Cassiopeia reminded. "It's pretty telling to us, that Vayne's death isn't a coincidence and LeBlanc might be somehow linked to Vessaria. But we need proof. Something that really shows LeBlanc had her sights set on the Institute."

Another moment of silence descended on the group, and as Garen caught Katarina's gaze in his own, he was reminded of their mission in Noxus and their foray into LeBlanc's office. "Her journal," he stated, and Katarina's eyes sparked in remembrance. "I think Jarvan has a copy of LeBlanc's journal. That might be proof enough."

"We're going about this all wrong," Talon suddenly spoke. "We don't need proof. Who are we going to present it to that isn't involved? The most powerful person in Valoran is corrupted and no one is going to go against her for fear of retribution. We don't know which or how many summoners she has on her side." His fists clenched at his side and his red eyes flashed defiantly as he continued, his voice lowered. "We know the truth, so we make the call. We go after Vessaria, and we don't tell anyone linked to the Institute in any way."

"You're right, we don't know how many people could be against us. Could be the whole Institute for all we know," Katarina acknowledged. "But somehow I don't think the six and a half people in this room could take on all this. We need allies."

"We are not likely to receive any help from Noxus," Riven pointed out. "They will side with Swain, who we know is allied with LeBlanc."

Garen shook his head likewise. "I think Jarvan, Lux, and Shyvana will help, especially when they hear about what Vessaria did. Jarvan might be able to convince some soldiers and other Champions, but the King won't go for it."

"What about other city-states?" Nasus asked. "Vessaria has essentially declared a martial rule over Valoran. There are those who will not take kindly to this and perhaps be willing to fight her, especially when told about the truth of her actions."

Tapping her clawed fingers lightly against her chin, Cassiopeia murmured, "Whole governments are unlikely to help right away. The risk is too high, because if we lose... well, they have too much at stake. But we could likely convince individual Champions to fight with us. Technically, Champions are supposed to do what's good for Valoran."

"And Champions tend to be paragons of their craft," Riven added, locking eyes with the serpentine woman across from her. "If enough Champions sided with us, it would be like having an army."

"I still don't think it's a good idea," Talon huff, crossing his arms. "We could try for stealth, get her alone-"

"Vayne tried that and it didn't work," Katarina interrupted. The hooded assassin shot a withering glare at her, but she pressed on. "I don't want to risk losing anyone in this operation if it can be avoided. It would be better if we were all together."

Shifting her red gaze to the darkening sky, Riven sighed, "So how will we recruit allies? We can't just go around advertising this sort of thing."

"For the utmost secrecy, I would suggest we simply explain our case to the Champions most likely to aid us," Nasus proposed. "I am well versed in many Champions' backgrounds, and..." For a moment his eyes had a distant look to them, as if lost in time, but he shook his head and finished, "I have some skill in judging people's character, though not as much as my brother once had. I can compile a list of those Champions, and divide them amongst each of us. We will need to be quick from here on though, so that summoners to not glean this information through the mind meld on the Fields of Justice."

"I will write a letter to Jarvan and my sister," Garen claimed, before turning to the mousy Octavius, who'd been sitting in absolute silence the entire meeting. It's not who he would have picked, but if Nasus trusted him... "You can do the sending spell, right?"

The yordle bit his lip and murmured, "I've only done it a few times. Always with help."

"Can you at least send yourself?" Garen pressed. "To Demacia and back?"

"I think so," Octavius replied, looking suspiciously at the soldier. "You want me to take the letter?"

The Demacian nodded in the affirmative, stating, "It'll be safer that way. No risk of it getting lost somehow. You put it directly in my sister's hands, no one else's."

"See, we're off to a great start," Katarina grinned. "But, given our less than pristine backgrounds, Cass, Talon, and I might have a harder time convincing people to do anything with us." Looking between Riven, Garen, and Nasus she stated, "It'll probably end up being you three who do most of the recruiting. Successfully anyway."

"Fair enough," Riven declared, pushing away from the window and brushing past the group toward the door. "Since we have decided what to do, I will await word from Nasus." Snapping her hand in a tight salute, the Exile added, "Forever strong," before leaving.

"Now that's nostalgic," the red-headed Noxian smirked.

Beckoning his assistant with his giant hand, the canine Champion stepped around the room with surprising agility for a figure his size. "We shall begin work immediately and report as soon as possible. Recover quickly, Miss DuCouteau."

Once out of earshot, Talon muttered, "He's a weird one."

"Well I like him," Cassiopeia declared. "He's a gentleman." The hooded assassin scowled.

Ignoring the bickering behind him, Garen knelt beside Katarina and took her hand in his. "Talon and Cassiopeia want to spend some time with you, so I'm going to my room."

"And you'll come back tomorrow?" she asked, earning a skeptical look from the soldier.

"Do you have to ask?" he grinned.

Talon made a sound of disgust and grabbed the back of Garen's shirt. "Get out already, please. I'm gonna choke on all the bullshit."

Katarina laughed and gave his hand a squeeze, her green eyes shining. "See you tomorrow."

"Definitely." With a nod to Talon and a murmured, "Good night," to Cassiopeia, the Demacian collected his weapon from the Infirmary's front desk and made his way down the dimly lit corridors.

Upon unlocking the door to his room, he noticed his now cleaned clothes folded neatly on the edge of the unused bed, and an unaddressed envelope resting atop the bundle bearing the wax seal of the Institute of War. A feeling of anxiety formed in his gut but he ripped it open anyway, skimming the elegant handwriting.

_24 May, 22CLE_

_To Mister Garen Crownguard:_

_Changes were made to your Champion status and you have been removed from the official League roster on 22 May, 22CLE. Your presence is requested tomorrow, 25 May 22CLE at 10am within my office in order to discuss these changes and, if necessary, make arrangements for enlistment. Please note: In order to continue your stay in the Institute of War, you will be required to submit to new Champion inductions, including an official Judgment and if accepted, report for summoning for the League. _

_Regards,_

_Kiersta Mandrake_

_High Councilor of the Institute of War_

The fact that he wasn't technically a Champion anymore completely slipped his mind with the events of the past two days. The Judgment process was unpleasant, and mind meld was risky with the information he just learned, but he needed what the Institute had to offer. Kiersta wanted to discuss it first though; perhaps he could strike some kind of deal with her to avoid the Judgment. Obviously he was proven a reliable Champion, it shouldn't even be necessary.

If she delved too far, saw too much somehow and wanted to confront him, he felt certain he could take her one on one. To protect Katarina, he would do it if necessary.

Garen deflated with a heavy sigh and tossed the letter to the floor, his borrowed clothing following shortly after. As he showered and collapsed into bed for an early night, the soldier decided that he would be very glad when this was finished.

* * *

Cassiopeia slithered after Talon as he strode to the mail room, complaining gracelessly the whole way about how he should buy her lunch for being so rude during their meeting; he rolled his eyes, considering doing so just to still her forked tongue.

"Who would send you mail anyway," she jabbed, earning a glare from the assassin. "You're an asshole."

"Anyone ever tell you you're a bitch when you're hungry?" he muttered.

The serpentine woman hissed at him, though there was no menace behind it, but stopped talking as the mail room attendant returned with a blank envelope and passed it to Talon. "Well what do you know," Cassiopeia smirked. "Someone out there likes you!"

But as he flipped it over, both Champions gasped at the familiar DuCouteau seal pressed into the wax, and he ripped it open only to find the letter contained was an incoherent jumble of letters and numbers. Incoherent to everyone except for Talon, who'd spent weeks poring over the code used in this particular letter.

"Talon," Cassiopeia warned, gripping his arm in her vice-like claws. "What is this?"

"I… I don't know," he lied, pushing past her and shoving the letter inside his cloak.

She followed on his heels, scales scraping against the marble floor as she pursued him with a mounting anger. "Don't lie to me! Is this about my father?!"

Talon panicked and bolted forward, but Cassiopeia's temper was just as quick. A blood-curdling screech burst from her lips, so violent he could swear he felt the weight of it on his back, and suddenly he could barely lift his legs to run.

She dashed after him, and he felt her claws rip into his neck, wrenching his head back to stare into her burning eyes. "Is this about my father!"

"Maybe, fuck!" he groaned, pulling her hands off of him. "It's the same code!"

As quickly as her anger set in, it left, and Cassiopeia let out a strangled cry as she covered her mouth. "What does it say?" she whispered.

"Hell if I know," he growled. "I'll need a minute to figure it out."

"Well hurry up!" the snake commanded.

Shooting her a glare, Talon seized her arm and pulled her along the hall toward his room, sluggishly at first until the magic of her scream wore away. "C'mon, in private at least. And until we get this figured this out, we don't tell Katarina, understood? It'll only worry her."

Cassiopeia hesitated, before nodding, following in subdued silence until the door to Talon's room was locked behind them. The assassin rummaged in his pack, throwing out his clothes and knives until he came the bottom of the sack, where he pulled out a small book, wrapped inside a shirt. As he flipped through it, Cassiopeia paced impatiently around the room, tapping her fingers against her arm. Finally Talon found the page he was looking for, and she peered over his shoulder to see his scrawled handwriting, the cipher for Marcus DuCouteau's code.

Leaning against the bed, Talon flipped his hood from his face and drew his knees up to his chest, the book and the letter in his lap. "Give me a minute," he murmured, eyes flashing between the two pages as he quickly scrawled out the message.

A few minutes passed in a strained silence, but his brusque voice eventually broke it, drawing Cassiopeia to his side in a flash. "I've got it," he called.

_24 May, 22CLE_

_Talon, Cass, & Kat,_

_I'm sorry I haven't contacted you until now. You have every right to be angry but we can discuss it later. Things are quickly escalating into what looks like the Third Rune War and LeBlanc is in control of the Institute of War somehow. With this martial law, Swain will soon march against the Institute and LeBlanc, and if there is no one ready, I have no doubts he will take it. But I've ensured that the lower Noxian houses stand against Swain. I will be at the Hasty Hammer in Kalamanda tomorrow night, if any of you can make it to coordinate. If not, I'll be in touch soon, or leave a message for me with the bartender there. Stay strong. The worst has yet to come. _

_MdC_

_PS. Bring that Demacian fellow Katarina keeps around. I need to make sure he's been doing what I told him._

The two DuCouteau's simply sat in stunned silence.

"I can't believe he thinks he can just leave a message, after no one hears from him for months!" Cassiopeia finally cried. "For all we knew, he was dead!"

"Cass, it'll be ok," Talon assured. "Tomorrow! We can see him tomorrow right?"

Angry tears were spilling from the woman's eyes and she snarled, "I don't even want to see him now!"

The assassin frowned. "Don't be a brat."

"I can be a brat if I want!" she shrieked. "And what the hell is with the post script! Has Garen talked to him?"

Confused, the red-eyed man re-read the letter, finding no answers. "I…I don't know."

"This is fucked up. You go and play war with the General, and take that stupid man with you." Cassiopeia crossed her arms. "I'm not going."

Shaking his head, Talon carefully folded the letter and stuck it in the book, which he tucked inside his cloak. "When you cool down, you're going to regret not coming." Her pride, however, kept her from replying, and she slid over to the door and left, without a word.

* * *

"Good of you to join me Mister Crownguard," Kiersta intoned politely, gesturing to the chair in front of her. "I am very sorry to hear about your exile."

"Thank you, High Councilor."

Brushing a stray lock of black hair from her soft face, the woman sighed, "I really am sympathetic to your plight, and I wish I could allow you to stay here and recuperate from such an unfortunate event with no strings attached. But I'm afraid you must be a summoner or Champion of the League to reside here. Are you willing to do what is necessary to re-enter?"

Garen tapped his fingers nervously against his legs as he replied, "About that. I've been a Champion pretty much from the beginning. Can't you just add me to the roster as independent and be done with it? Without a Judgment?"

To his surprise, Kiersta seemed to consider his request, though a look of unease spread across her pretty features. "Well… High Councilor Kolminye did allow three other Champions in with minimal requirements."

"It wouldn't really be fair then if I had to go through the whole process again, then," he pressed, hoping his luck would hold.

Kiersta slowly shook her head. "I will compromise. I will judge you here, without High Councilor Kolminye and the other Senior Summoner. You have been a faithful Champion but I must abide by the rules also."

He wanted to ask if going along with Vessaria on controlling the world was part of following the rules, but bit his tongue and nodded, touching the reassuring weight of the sword hanging from his belt.

"Then let us begin," she stated, raising her hands. The room seemed to darken, and a burst of light erupted between her palms, blinding him.

When his vision returned, he was wearing only his underclothes and cuffed to a metal chair, staring into a two-way mirror. He couldn't stop the sickening dread that took his body as he looked from the mirror to the door where the King stood, to a tense Jarvan IV, to Lux, her face red and eyes teary; he knew what came next, replayed it many times while in Kalamanda.

Lux began to sob as the King addressed her, and Garen had to look away as her tiny frame shook. All the pain he caused his sister, all avoidable. Guilt overwhelmed him; he wanted to cry.

"Garen Crownguard," King Jarvan addressed, finally turning his steely gaze back to Garen, "for crimes against Demacia including fraternization with an enemy agent and petty treason for aiding in the retrieval of another known enemy agent, you are hereby dishonorably discharged from your station as Commander of the Dauntless Vanguard. Furthermore, your status as a Champion of Demacia is permanently revoked, and you shall no longer be affiliated with Demacia in any form. In honor of your previously faithful service, I will keep this charge from the public, but you are never to step foot into Demacian territory, and any infraction of this order will result in a public execution."

It didn't hurt any less hearing it the second time, and his heart thudded erratically against his ribs, his lungs refusing to work. But before the scene could play out, light surrounded the soldier once more, and when it receded once more, he found that he was in his bed at home wearing nothing at all.

"When all the political games are through, and everything is back to normal, what do you want to do?" Katarina asked, her hand tracing lazy patterns across his chest.

Garen closed his eyes, instantly relaxing into the feeling of her pressed against his side, her hair tangled in his fingers. "I don't know. But I want to be able to see you whenever I want. Whatever will let me do that."

The assassin let out a short but genuine laugh. "You're so cheesy! How did I end up with you?" she teased.

With a playful growl he turned onto his side and muttered, "I'm cheesy? Who was the one who wanted to run away to Bilgewater and become pirates?"

He remembered joining her laughter that followed, the motion awakening something besides mirth inside their bodies, but instead her brow creased in a frown. "What about the League?" she whispered.

"Wha-?"

"Why do you want to join the League?"

He instantly blushed, forgetting for that blissful moment that he was in a League Judgment. "Ah, I... I want to help you... her with our mission. I can protect her."

"Is that all?"

Garen bit his lip. "Whatever it takes, I want to make the world a place where we can be together."

Finally, Katarina grinned, "And how does it feel, exposing your mind?"

"As terrible as ever," he hissed. "And embarrassing. Get out of my head."

The light returned and when it faded, he was back in Kiersta's office, the High Councilor smirking knowingly, a blush staining her cheeks. "Cute."

"Inappropriate," he countered, causing her smile to fade.

"You plan to move against High Councilor Kolminye," she stated, her face neutral.

Anxious fingers brushed against the hilt of his sword as he replied,"As a Champion, I will do what's best for Valoran. As a High Councilor, you should do the same."

Her perfectly manicured nails tapped rhythmically against the wooden desk. "You have proof that she is... not herself?"

"Speculation," he admitted, thumb ready against the guard of his sword. "With reason to believe."

Kiersta was silent for several minutes, the tension growing with every second that passed. Finally she whispered, "You're right, I must do what is right for Valoran." The sharp inhale of his breath masked the sound of steel drawing ever so slightly from a sheath, but the Councilor merely turned her chair. "Have a good day Mister Crownguard," she declared.

A shocked look passed across his face and he stammered, "C-councilor Mandrake?" but she simply waved a hand at him in response. On guard, he rose to his feet and backed slowly to the door and, when she did not turn around, quickly exited, his thoughts racing along with him down the twisting halls to Katarina.


	15. The Paths We Tread

_Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year everyone! _

_Oh, a couple of people have asked and I always forget to answer. Which skin is Shyvana (with most wanting Iron-scale) in? Truth is, whichever tickles your fancy; it doesn't change the story or the character. I always picture people in classic which is why I skip on describing them. I just like the idea of Jarvan falling for a blue-tinted lady lol. I think that makes me a bad and lazy writer but... *__puts on__shades_*_ oh well! XD Along that vein, my storyline editor is at work but I'm really desperate to post a chapter, so if I end up editing anything I'll let you peeps know._

* * *

_The Paths We Tread_

* * *

One positive aspect of the temporary disbandment from the military and the League Lux found was that she was able to enjoy the warm May weather in civilian clothing, rather than the suffocating long sleeves and metal armor of her battle attire. Clad in a sleeveless summer dress which flowed about her knees, she had just stepped out for a brief walk through a nearby garden to enjoy the, sadly, unfamiliar sensation of the sun on her bare skin; it was upon her return that a soldier greeted Luxanna and her guard at the front door with a bow. "Lady Luxanna, you have a visitor."

"Prince Jarvan?" she inquired.

"No, a summoner from the Institute of War," he corrected, holding the door allowing her to pass. She had to suppress the urge to smile at how well tamed her "guards" were becoming. "I showed him to the study."

Curious, she pushed her way into the study, initially seeing nothing, when suddenly a pair of fuzzy ears appeared over the top of the couch followed by an equally furry face. "Um, hello," she greeted, crossing the room to sit across from the purple-robed yordle. "Can I help you?"

"You're Garen's sister Lux?" he questioned suspiciously.

Noting that he held a letter in his lap, the blonde, more curious than ever, answered, "I am. Do you bring word form him?"

With a sigh of relief, the summoner held out the letter and replied, "My name is Octavius. Garen told me to bring this straight to you and wait for your response."

Taking the paper, she read through it thoroughly, her blue eyes widening in surprise as she reached the end. Without a word about its content, Lux tucked it into her dress pocket as she stood and motioned for the yordle to follow her. "Come. I need to consult with Jarvan before I can give you a reply." To the guard waiting at the door she asked, "Please, I need to see Prince Jarvan IV. Will you take me?"

The guard, a young man of the Vanguard, was no match for her pleading smile. "Right away Miss Crownguard," he breathed, snapping to attention. As they exited, Lux's deft fingers grabbed her baton which sat near the door, instantly feeling more secure despite the nervousness that she'd gotten from the letter; she'd convinced the guards that, although she "couldn't use magic now" she simply felt naked without the instrument at her side. As such, the mage had to constantly make sure the magic that wasn't supposed to be flowing through her didn't light the ends of the staff as was typical.

It was a busy time of day and the streets of the capital city were alive with Demacian citizens going about their business as Luxanna, her guard, and the summoner pushed their way uphill toward the gleaming white spires that marked the castle. "How do you know Garen?" Luxanna asked to the waddling yordle beside her.

His gentle voice was nearly lost in the din of the street when he replied, "He and my boss- that's Nasus, he's a Champion too- are working together on... what you read in the letter."

"I see. So you're helping then? Even though you're a summoner?"

"Of course!" he squeaked. "It seems like the right thing to do, doesn't it? Besides, Nasus is counting on me."

Lux tilted her head thoughtfully before nodding, "Yeah. Yeah it does." Her own thoughts had been centered around the details of such an operation: The benefits to Demacia, the manpower needed to make it work, and the likelihood of success or failure. But it could be that simple, she supposed. The _right_ thing to do. The rest of the walk was spent in silence, and by the time they were greeted by the castle's steward, Luxanna was grateful for the quiet reprieve of the castle walls.

"Please, inform Prince Jarvan Lightshield IV that Luxanna Crownguard is here to speak with him," she requested. "If he is busy, tell him I will wait for him. It's very important." With a bow, the steward set off, leaving the three to wait in the castle's grand entryway.

Castle was a generous term, in Luxanna's opinion, as she doubted the extravagant construction would be of any defensive use if war came to the capital city; palace was much more accurate. It was not unlike the Institute of War in structure, with open, pillar-lined hallways surrounding the perimeter which led into the equally stately interior: Crystalline chandeliers, curving stairways, and pristine white marble walls all accented with the deep teals and vibrant golds of Demacia's crest.

The mage glanced down at Octavius, who seemed to be reeling by the sheer size of everything around him, and grinned, "I take it you've never been to Demacia?"

"N-no," he stammered, shaking his head. "I mean, I thought it would be like the Institute but this is... a lot to take in."

"If it makes you feel any better," she offered, "the first time I remember coming here, I was five and Garen was twelve. He ran into the middle of the foyer over there with me on his shoulders and I looked up at that gigantic ceiling while he spun around in circles. I got so dizzy that I threw up all over the floor."

Octavius laughed and even her hitherto silent guard chuckled. "True story," she added, her smile genuine for the first time in what felt like ages.

"Miss Crownguard?" the returning steward ventured as he approached. "The Prince will see you. If you would follow me."

Sharing a determined look, Lux and Octavius followed straight along the hall and up the main staircase to the nearly silent residency wing where she knew Jarvan's room and study were. The steward knocked on the heavy wood door, announcing her arrival and the Prince cracked it open immediately.

"Luxanna please come in," he invited, stepping back to allow just enough space for her and the summoner to pass through. Addressing her guard, he added, "You may return to your regular duties. I will escort Luxanna back to her home." The young man looked confused momentarily, but seeing the Prince's brow furrow, he snapped into a flustered salute and dashed back the way they'd come. Upon entering Lux was surprised to find that Shyvana was present as well, and Octavius took a hesitant step back from the Half-Dragon, positioning himself behind the mage's legs.

"Thanks Jarvan," Lux sighed once the door was shut. "It's so tiring having someone follow me around all day. How are you Shyvana?"

"I am well," she huffed curtly.

"And I would appreciate if you did not mention her presence here to anyone," Jarvan quickly added, taking a seat next to her and indicating Lux and Octavius to sit across from them on a plush loveseat. "Who are you?" he questioned, nodding at the yordle.

"A summoner from the Institute," he murmured.

"He brought this from Garen," Luxanna interjected, passing the letter to the Jarvan and Shyvana. "And he needs a response right away."

_25 May, 22CLE_

_Lux & Jarvan,_

_I hope this letter finds you in a good way. I know I just saw Jarvan the other day but so many things have happened already. Katarina, her sister Cassiopeia, their father's ward Talon, the Curator Nasus, the Noxian exile Riven, the late Night Hunter, and the summoner Octavius who delivered this letter, have discovered that High Councilor Vessaria Kolminye was the one who passed along the information which led to my exile and yours and Shyvana's suspension/discharge. Not to mention Vayne immediately turned up dead after going to confront Vessaria. It can't be a coincidence; I refuse to believe a random criminal could kill that woman. _

_We suspect LeBlanc is involved somehow, either manipulating Vessaria or working with her. The King himself said that Vessaria told him LeBlanc was dead and to forget about her. I believe it was to cover up suspicions of LeBlanc and the Black Rose's involvement. This on top of Vessaria declaring martial law? LeBlanc seeks power and what is more powerful than Vessaria and the Institute? There's no solid proof but it all makes sense. _

_This said, what I am about to ask is no small favor. I know you have already lost everything you've worked for, especially you Lux, but I am asking for more. Possibly within the fortnight, we are going to move against her if we can. We are beginning to spread the truth and recruit other Champions as discreetly as possible, but she essentially has an army of summoners, and if LeBlanc is on her side, then Swain and his army will be as well. We need as much help as we can get. _

_So I'm asking you to join us when the time comes. You and whoever you can recruit, Champions, soldiers, anyone. For the sake of Valoran, we must shut her down. We can't allow her to continue gaining power and oppressing the city-states of Valoran. If we can come in full force, she might not suspect it and we can kill her without causing a full scale war. That's the idea anyway. Send word back as soon as you can. Octavius will deliver it straight to me or one of the others. If you need to contact us, send a summoner or someone else you can trust that can deliver the message as quickly as possible. It's the safest way and we need to be as quick and discreet as possible. _

_Please be careful,_

_Garen_

Both Jarvan and Shyvana's faces grew increasingly more distressed as they read, and when they finished, the Prince choked out, "It's come to this?"

"Apparently," Lux whispered. "What do you think?"

"I will do it just to get my teeth into Vessaria's throat," Shyvana snarled, causing Lux and Octavius to jump in surprise at the fire in her tone. "She has caused trouble for me, and even more for Jarvan."

Shaking his head and setting a hand on the dragon-woman's thigh, Jarvan replied, "Doing this is a death sentence for me politically. My father would never support this, he's too close to Vessaria. So if I do it and we lose- besides the fact that I might be dead- I'll be cut off."

"It would be better to die fighting the evils of the world than to let them willingly come into your home," Shyvana rebutted. "You claimed this once, Jarvan, when we first met. Have you forgotten?"

The Prince looked taken aback, and a slow flush spread across his cheeks, keeping him silent.

"You know, if we win," Lux said slowly, chewing on a fingernail, "it would look pretty good for you. The Prince who took initiative to protect the world when the King did nothing..."

"This is true," the Half-Dragon responded.

Jarvan considered her judgment for a moment, then slowly nodded in agreement. "You're right. I would not abandon Valoran in a time of need, nor would I abandon Garen. I'm with you one-hundred percent. I'm sure I can find a way to get some soldiers to follow me as well."

"If they truly believe in delivering justice, they will follow," Shyvana stated, flashing him a fierce grin which he returned. Gods did he love that smile.

Octavius coughed, "So, I can tell the others you will join?"

"Yes," Jarvan boomed. "I will speak with those from the Elite Guard and Vanguard that are most loyal to me as well as the other Demacian Champions. I can't promise we will bring an army, but we three will be ready."

The yordle nodded and jumped to his feet. "I'll go tell him."

"Care, summoner," Lux smiled.

Octavius murmured, "Thanks," and held his hands out in front of him, a blue glow forming between his palms which quickly engulfed him and in a blink, he was gone.

A moment of silence descended between the three former Champions, until Shyvana finally grinned, "Vessaria doesn't even know what's coming."

* * *

Sand whipped by Nasus's face and clung to his fur in way he knew would be difficult to clean later, but it was so reminiscent of his home that he didn't mind. Lesser beings might have felt suffocated by the sand and wind and sun that bore down on the lands past the Great Barrier, but for the canine-Champion it only made him feel invigorated. Normally he would spend hours drifting amongst the dunes and beneath the floating pyramids, but today his mission took him West, away from the heart of the Shurima desert to the dusty ruins of Urtistan.

The summoners had transported him right along the boundaries of the ancient city, allowing Nasus to survey the wreckage as he approached the massive clock tower which still stood, though other structures had since been lost to the sands. He'd even called in a favor and received a beacon which would allow him to be located and summoned back when activated, something they rarely gave out for "frivolous usage." Not that he expected his excursion into the ruins to last long, but it did give him a little leeway to take his time.

As he neared, he could see he was correct about the Chronokeeper's whereabouts, as a faint blue glow radiated from the behind the clock tower's face which had long since stopped. A winding staircase whose crumbling steps the Curator dryly imagine the Chronokeeper easily floating over, led him to a trapdoor at the top of the tower, which was already opened for him.

"Did you see me coming, Zilean?" Nasus asked.

Zilean, the immortal chronomage, hovered inches above the floor surrounded by the blue light which emanated from both the mage's eyes and the massive, ticking clock which was strapped to his back. As Nasus's words reached him in whatever faraway time he was experiencing, the glow slowly faded to nothing and the immortal murmured, "Yes and no. I thought it might be sooner that one such as yourself would seek my council."

Crossing his legs to sit across from the old mage, the Curator replied, "Then you know why I've come?"

The Chronokeeper shifted his gaze from Nasus's face to something beyond, further even than the ruins that stretched out behind him. "News of war." For a brief second, a look of agitation crossed his ancient face and he cried, "No!" before sighing in relief, "It has not happened yet. But it will."

"Can you see the outcome?" Nasus pressed. "What will become of Valoran?"

Tugging his beard thoughtfully, Zilean stated, "I see many outcomes, many possibilities. Some are good, some are bad. Down some paths I see the great cities of Valoran falling as Urtistan did, to great armies of Summoners. And others show a lasting war and the repercussions, the land ruined from the destruction we will wrought upon it."

"And are there any paths in which the battle is short and the land is saved?" the canine-Champion inquired, feeling significantly more hopeless than when he first arrived.

Again, the mage's eyes became foggy with the sight of something only he could see, but he only murmured, "Urtistan is quite beautiful in the summer time. See how the desert willows and bluebells begin to bloom? The city is covered in them, pinks and blues."

"I'd like to have seen that," Nasus responded as gently as he could; he knew the old mage's chrono-displasia was a source of torment for him. No sense in being intolerant of it.

Summer passed in the blink of an eye, seasons changing to war and destruction and all occurring for Zilean in the span of a breath. The mage dropped his gaze to the sandy ruins and even Nasus felt his heart go out at the distraught expression that took the old man's face. But as quickly as it came it was gone and Zilean disclosed, "There are paths from which Valoran will benefit. They are fewer, for it is painfully simple for all to go awry. But they are possibilities."

Nasus accepted this declaration with a slow nod. "Then when the time comes, will you stand with us to prevent the destruction of Valoran? My allies and I seek to bring the Deceiver, the one responsible for these things, to justice."

The Chronokeeper grimaced. "I will. Though it means that, if thing go well, I might be forced to aid that wretched armored bear. Nevertheless, I shall, for the sake of Valoran." Then, so quietly Nasus would have missed it if not for his enhanced hearing, Zilean added, "For Urtistan."

The urge to smile almost overcame the stoic Curator of the Sands, but he managed to present the chronomage with a sincere, "Thank you. Would you like to return with me to the Institute of War?"

"Please, if you wouldn't mind," Zilean accepted, taking hold of Nasus's arm as the canine reached to the beacon he wore as a pendant around his neck. The beacon was nondescript accessory, simply a small square of metal with an amethyst stone in the center, which, when pressed and held, would emit a magical signal which could be picked up by those manning the summoning platforms in the Institute of War. For a moment, nothing happened, but the familiar blue glow of a summons began to surround the two Champions and in a flash, the desert and its ruins were behind them.

As Nasus parted ways with Zilean, he finally allowed himself to feel a small piece of triumph. Not only had he gained the support of the powerful chronomage, but his complaints about the armored bear indicated that if things went well, Freljord would be on their side as well. Bearing this in mind, Nasus mentally moved the Frost Archer and her husband up the list of Champions to recruit.

* * *

"Garen!"

Garen had been in the midst of retrieving a throwing knife from the target boards he and Talon rigged about Katarina's room (against the Infirmary's requests), when Talon unceremoniously charged into the room shouting his name; he briefly considered testing his skill with the knife against Talon's face, but managed a strained, "Yes?" instead.

Taking the knives from his hands and thrusting them at an intrigued Katarina, the hooded assassin pushed the soldier into the hall and shut the behind them, calling over his shoulder, "We'll be right back!"

"To what do I owe this fine pleasure?" the Demacian scoffed, whipping around so that Talon would lose his grip on his shoulder.

"I got a letter from Marcus, Katarina's father," the assassin blurted. "He mentioned you. How does he know who you are?"

"From who-what?"

Pulling the letter from his cloak, Talon read, "_PS: Bring that Demacian__ fellow Katarina keeps around. I need to make sure he's been doing what I told him. _What does that mean? When did you talk to him?"

Garen flashed the Noxian an incredulous stare. "The hell if I know! I've never met the guy!"

A low growl bubbled in that back of Talon's throat and he grumbled, "Kinda slight man, my height. Black and gray hair, short beard that's the same color. Katarina looks just like the bastard, same shit-eating smirk and everything. Ring a bell?"

"That could be anyone!" the soldier argued, but as the words left his mouth, he recalled a very frustrating conversation with a cloaked stranger at the bar in Kalamanda and the rest of his argument died in his throat. Instead he croaked, "F-favors a dagger and the color black? Kinda sarcastic?"

Talon couldn't even begin to hide his surprise. "What the fuck. You've actually talked to him."

"I-maybe?" Garen stammered. "I don't know! There was a guy at the Hasty Hammer, maybe, ten minutes before you came and dragged me out. Kinda fits that description. What else did the letter say?"

"Marcus wants to meet up and coordinate, to help us fight LeBlanc and Swain," Talon muttered, "and he said to bring you along. To... to the Hasty Hammer." The two men stared at each other for a few moments in neutral silence, until a low chuckle from Garen started a short fit of disbelieving laughter from both of them.

"Small fucking world," Talon commented with a shake of his head. "If it was him, what did he tell you?"

The Demacian thought about it, then let out an embarrassed cough. "To, um, man up."

A sputtering scoff burst from the assassin's mouth. "I guess we'll see right? Get some stuff ready; we're going to Kalamanda."

* * *

"As you can see, there is strong evidence that the Institute is corrupted once more," Nasus explained, reaching the end of his description and feeling like quite the diplomat. "There is a strong and evil force at work, manipulating the Institute and threatening the lives of he citizens of Valoran. If Freljord were on our side when we go to stop her, we would surely succeed."

He sat across from Ashe and Tryndamere, Freljord's rulers, in the private suite within the Institute's residency, a minimalistic room with only the most necessary furniture. In fact, the Curator sat in one of the rooms' two chairs, while the Frost Archer occupied the other and the Barbarian King stood beside her, a perfect foil: Dark and wild where she was pale and serene.

"And who is in this group of yours?" the barbarian huffed.

Nasus hesitated. "Myself, Garen Crownguard, Zilean the Chronokeeper, and... and Katarina, Cassiopeia, and Talon, DuCouteau, and Riven the Exile." He'd rushed through their names as quickly as he could, but Tryndamere's eyes darkened instantly upon hearing the name "DuCouteau."

"A family of Noxian assassins, correct?" Ashe inquired.

"Somewha-"

"I don't want to help someone who might have had a hand in the slaughter of my people!" Tryndamere roared.

Nasus frowned; he hadn't anticipated such resistance. "In fairness, they are no longer affiliated with Noxus. We all seek the preservation of Valoran."

Opening his mouth to argue, the Barbarian King was silenced as Ashe held up a slender hand and said, "A noble cause. But what are their intentions for after such a battle? Can they be trusted to see us through the battle and into the aftermath?"

"I-"

"Because while the cause is just," Ashe started, "there is more myself and Tryndamere must consider. We are more than Champions of the League, we are the leaders of Freljord. I must do what is good for my people first, before the citizens of other city-states."

"But what happens if we lose here and now?" Nasus argued. "Do you think a corrupted Institute will ignore Freljord? It has already begun. Groups of summoners have already been dispatched to the city-states to force cooperation with the Institute. If we fail and the other city-states fall, who will come to Freljord's aid with the Institute turns their gaze north?"

An icy glint took hold in the Frost Archer's eyes and a delicate frown tugged on her lips, and both the Freljordians considered his words.

"I truly understand," the queen stated, "but we will need to discuss it together. As the King and Queen, we cannot just make decisions like this without talking with our council."

"And what about the other Champions of Freljord?" Nasus asked desperately. "Can you commit at least Freljords Champions, if not their soldiers?"

Tryndamere gripped the back of his wife's chair and rumbled, "We can't just sign up other Champions to fight your battles for you; they are of their own independent tribes. We can pass along the details to them, and if they join, it's their own choice."

It wasn't the answer he'd expected to receive when he'd come, but Nasus nodded in recognition as he stood. "I would appreciate that. Thank you for your time today. I hope to hear from you, Ashe, Tryndamere. Please consider it, for all our sakes."

The barbarian mumbled something under his breath about Noxians, but Ashe inclined her head respectfully. "We will. Good day, Curator of the Sands."

* * *

Riven lay on her bed, arms stretched over her head holding a list of Champions Nasus had given her to recruit. It wasn't a very long list, but the Exile was relatively new to the League and wasn't sure with whom she should even start with, especially with her background; at least she wouldn't have to speak with any Ionians.

As she pondered the paper, a chill suddenly traveled down her spine, raising the hairs on her neck as though she were being watched. In a fluid motion she rolled over to reach for her broken sword which rested on the floor beside her, but as her fingers touched the comforting wrap of the blade's hilt, a curved blade appeared around her wrist.

"We wish to talk, Riven the Exile," a male voice claimed. "But we will not hesitate to defend ourselves should you attack."

A bead of sweat trickled down her temple as she pulled her hand away and turned to face three masked figures. "You're... you're the Kinkou."

"Correct," the man said. "I am Shen, the Eye of Twilight. These are my associates, Akali, the Fist of Shadow, and Kennen, the Heart of the Tempest." The woman, Akali, sheathed the kama which had been poised to remove Riven's hand, and the third, a yordle, crossed his arms.

"How did you get in here?" Riven questioned. "The door is locked."

Akali, her voice as dark as her presence, replied cryptically, "I am the shadow," causing the Noxian to shiver involuntarily.

Hopping up on the bed where Riven sat and crackling with energy, Kennen added, "We're ninjas. Get used to it."

"This is irrelevant," Shen intoned. "We've heard rumor of a plan to dispose of Vessaria Kolminye, the High Councilor of the Institute of War."

"How-"

"irrelevant," he repeated. "We work to preserve the balance, and the actions of the Institute threaten this balance. We must correct this."

With a frown, the Exile quipped, "Sounds great. Since it's so important, how bout you just sneak in and kill her?"

In a flash, the kama's wickedly sharp blade was at her throat and its owner commanded, "The Eye of Twilight speaks. You will listen."

"It is not so simple, against a Summoner, but the Kinkou must act against Vessaria and her allies regardless of what you and your group decides to do," the blue-clad ninja clarified. "There have been times in the past when even the Kinkou worked together with others to ensure that balance is preserved. This is one of those times."

Riven didn't relax, but the tension coiled in her gut dissipated. "So you want to help us?"

Arms akimbo, Kennen looked up at Akali and muttered, "Was that not clear?" She shrugged.

"It's just, why would you approach me, of all people?" the Noxian queried, a hand running through her loose hair. "Why not any of the others, since you seem to know what's going on and who's involved?"

"We've been watching you and yours!" Kennen chirped.

"You wish to repay Ionia for your transgressions against her people, yes?" Shen asked.

Eyes widening in surprise, Riven mumbled, "Yes..."

The only response to her admission was a short nod by the man. "Ionia will not sit idly by, as many would assume; the Elders are aware of the threats, but there are equally trying matters they must deal handle." His yellow eyes raked over the Noxian's face and it seemed to her that he was peering through her. "When the time arises, at least we the Kinkou will be present. Until then, Riven the Exile."

Her eyes hadn't moved from the three ninja, but even so, they simply blinked out of existence. For a few minutes the soldier sat poised on her bed, unmoving and scarcely breathing as she processed the strange events of the night. The Kinkou had approached _her_ of all people, just to say they wanted to help? A snort of disbelief left her, and finally she collapsed wearily onto her back. All the business of hiding in shadows and giving vague answers and posing even stranger questions was not her style, but no one could deny the efficiency of the Kinkou order.

With a smug smile on her face, Riven fixed her hair, pocketed the list, and once more reached for her broken blade; preserving the balance? Perhaps this way she would finally be able to find her own balance.

* * *

Garen Crownguard was a difficult man to intimidate, but intimidating with only a smile seemed to be a skill only the DuCouteau's possessed.

The short trip to Kalamanda was filled with bickering between himself and Talon, but the Demacian was not concerned about angering the assassin; his mind was ahead, already focused on meeting the DuCouteau patriarch. If it was the same man from before, he feared he'd already left a terrible impression. Not that impressions mattered, he decided with a frown. The only thing of importance was gathering an army; he would not let himself be cowed.

They'd approached the bar as dusk fell and silence rose in the tense space between he and the assassin, setting them both on edge. Just as they reached the entrance, Talon paused, his unarmed hand resting against the door and simply stated, "This is what I've been working toward for the last year."

For once, the Demacian let himself feel sympathetic for the Noxian. "You've done a lot to make it happen," he admitted. Almost instantly he regretted saying anything as a smug look passed across Talon's face, but he said nothing and merely pushed open the door in response.

The Hasty Hammer was crowded, loud, and smokey, and Marcus DuCouteau was inconspicuous to everyone except for them. He sat at a small table tucked into the far right corner at the side of the bar, staring intently at the door, arms crossed against his chest. There was no hood this time, no pretense of being a stranger at the bar: only a slight man dressed in black with a salt-and-pepper beard and a familiar, daunting smirk.

Garen wanted to run from that smile, so like Katarina's, but he followed Talon's surprisingly even pace through the maze of tables until they stood across from the General. For a moment, none of them said anything, content to size each other up until Talon casually stated, "It's been a long time, General."

"So it has," he replied, his baritone voice slow and smooth, each word deliberate. Gaze flicking toward Garen, he added, "For some of us."

The soldier was dimly aware of his voice choking out, "Nice to officially meet you."

With a chuckle, Marcus said, "Likewise," and, motioning to the two vacant chairs, commanded, "Sit, and tell me where my daughters are."

The Demacian did not feel unlike a child who was about to be reprimanded by a parent, and even Talon shifted uneasily under the older assassin's clever eyes. "Cassiopeia said she didn't want to see you. Too angry."

A short laugh slid from Marcus's lips. "I expected as much from her. And Katarina?"

"She's in the hospital, sir," Talon muttered.

The smirk faded, but Garen did not feel any more at ease, and Talon averted his gaze to the table top. "I see," the General replied thoughtfully. "What happened?"

It was Garen who answered. "She was attacked in her room, by the Urgot, the Headsman's Pride." The graying man's face was impassive, so the Demacian swallowed and pressed on. "I made sure to kill him. She's got some third degree burns, but she's close to walking now."

Marcus leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table and lacing his fingers together under his bearded chin. "Good to hear. As much as I would love to discover where you two were when that happened, we have more pressing matters to discuss." His voice dropped low. "War comes. I would like to be ready."

"You mentioned Swain was going to march against the Institute. Is that true?" Talon asked.

"My informants in the High Command swear it is," Marcus smirked. "He's been calling in favors and threats. But I've managed to keep the lower Noxian houses loyal to me. I'm thinking we will march with Swain as allies, and once LeBlanc is dead, we take him as well."

Eyebrows drawn in a frown, Garen pondered, "Why would Swain fight LeBlanc? I thought they were allies."

"Clearly you're not an ambitious man, or you wouldn't be asking," the General jabbed. "They were for the longest time, since he was a boy, as far as I could tell. But he's not the type to be used by someone else. She helped him into control of Noxus only because she took the bigger prize: Valoran." Another of his short chuckles rumbled in his throat. "Now he wants the same. Worst part is he can make it look justified if no one knows he was working with her to begin with."

"So we fight LeBlanc and Swain," Talon muttered. "Separately. We're going to need a bigger army than we thought." Marcus arched a questioning eyebrow at the two men across the table, so the assassin continued, "We have a small group of Champions that will fight against the Institute and Swain. More will join, I'm sure of it."

Rubbing his gloved hand over the short whiskers on his chin, the Noxian general told them, "Excellent, because ready or not, the battle will come to us."

"Will you be able to tell us before Swain rides out?" Garen asked. If they were able to get the other city-states behind them, they would need an extra day or two to make it to the Institute, especially Freljord and Ionia.

"Sure can," the general said. "I have a Noxian summoner I can send to warn you, a guy by the name of Niko. You mentioned other Champions: Is Demacia coming to help? I imagine both Jarvan's would love any chance to kill some Noxians."

The Demacian stiffly replied, "Yes, but only a few Champions, maybe some soldiers and it's just as much for LeBlanc and Vessaria Kolminye. Demacia is split and she's the one who caused it. We don't know about other city-states yet, but like Talon said, we're trying to win them over."

"More likely than not you won't get any definite backing," Marcus mused.

"We figured as much," Talon snapped, his fingers tapping out his irritation on the wooden table. "But like you said, it doesn't matter how many allies we have or don't have, the battle is coming."

The General cast a disbelieving grin at the younger assassin's display. "I see my daughters have rubbed off on you." Talon's scowl deepened, earning a laugh from his patron that quickly faded into seriousness. "Act as quick as you can. It'll be soon, but there's no telling exactly when. Someone needs to stay at the Institute at all times, to keep an eye on things there. If you need to message me leave it here with the barkeep. My associates are known here and visit frequently and I can't risk giving you my location."

"By the way, why Kalamanda?" Talon probed. "Why this bar?"

An odd, knowing look passed across Marcus's face. "It's the hub for the underground," he said. "Neutral. Didn't you wonder where the tunnel under the prison led to? Before the Institute existed, all roads led to Kalamanda. Two Nexus's, though no one knew it then, a good location, connects the Major city-states. Shit for mining though. Really, it's no wonder the Institute took it."

Talon kept a still expression but Garen didn't bother trying to hide his surprise then exasperation. This was where that tunnel led, of all places, and yet, no other place made sense. It would certainly be good to remember, if ever he needed a way into Demacia, but he wondered if all the fighting he'd done in Kalamanda had been for those reasons and not the mines at all. Such a waste of time; at least one good thing had come of it...

Placing his palms against the table, Marcus rose saying, "Well boys, it was a short but necessary meeting and we better be on our separate ways. Walk out with me." Talon sprung to his feet taking his place behind the General, close as a shadow; Garen shuffled awkwardly behind the pair as they walked a short distance from the bar before slowing to a stop.

"You keep watching out for Cassiopeia and Katarina, will you?" the graying man asked, clapping a hand on Talon's back, who nodded solemnly. "Damn right you will, or I'd slit your throat in your sleep," the General grinned.

"Don't be so sure, old man," the hooded assassin taunted. "I'm even faster than the last time we went head to head."

"Is that so?" Marcus snickered. There was a flash of steel, faster than anything Garen had seen in his life, and with a scrape of metal on metal the General's dagger was pressed against his ward's blade. "Very good," he conceded. Another flash, almost imperceptible and a thin line of red blossomed on Talon's cheek and Marcus grinned, "But I'm not so old and slow yet." Talon quickly rubbed his face, dropping his gaze, though a small smile tugged at his lips.

"You!" Katarina's father turned to Garen, pointing his dagger as an extension of his arm. "It's no fault of yours you were born a Demacian, but you seem loyal to my daughter and I can respect that." The tip of dagger was pressed against the soldier's chest now, and though the Noxian was nearly a head shorter than him, Garen felt very small. "Would that I could make all the proper threats, but Kat would have a fit for babying her. So I'll leave it at this: Don't make me kill you."

Pushing aside the blade with more bravado than he truly felt, Garen said, "Wouldn't dream of it."

"Good." Marcus sheathed his blade, and took one last look at the two Champions. "I'll send word when the time comes and pray that plans don't change. Be strong, watch your backs, all that good stuff." Turning on heel, the General silently stepped back the way they'd come, fading into darkness.

* * *

A week passed, then another, leaving everyone with an unsettled feeling in their guts as they awaited the start of a war that was late in coming. The time in between had been spent recruiting, and most of the Champions responded like the Frost Archer had: Hopeful, but noncommittal. Garen was sent to talk to Piltover's Statesmen, as well as the Sheriff Caitlyn, her new partner Vi, and the Defender, Jayce. Piltover was empathetic as ever, even interested in Jarvan's role in the matter, but the Demacian walked away with no definite answer. However, before he stepped hesitantly inside the rare techmaturgical conveyance which the group of statesmen offered to have take him back to the Institute, the Sheriff's lilting voice bade him to wait. There were no promises from her either, but she made her interest in investigating the Institute of War strongly known, and where she went, her officers would follow. It was encouraging, he felt, but not more so than an actual guarantee of their cooperation.

He and Octavius did have unexpectedly good luck in Bandle City. Free from much of the political web by which the rest of Valoran was constrained, Mayor Dennison Jadefellow wholeheartedly wished to get the bullying summoners out of his city; it was difficult to maintain a sense of community with a bunch of humans running about giving orders. But in fact, the mayor informed them, Demacian Ambassador Poppy had pledged her help to Jarvan IV, and Bandle City was already preparing to fight against the Summoners. Though yordles weren't exactly what Garen had in mind, no one could deny the strength of the yordle Champions employed by the League.

Riven even spoke with several of the League's more mercenary Champions, though none of them had any sum worthwhile to offer for their services. Help from the likes of Sivir or Miss Fortune was dubious at best, though she'd done her best to appeal to whatever bits of moral standard might exist in them. To her surprise, the Widowmaker had approached her with an offer which Riven had declined to talk about, though a soft blush appeared on her cheeks when anyone tried to ask.

But for all the Champions who hinted at their participation, there were more who didn't care about the League and its politics: Those of the Shadow Isles, or related to the Void, Zaun, because of their alliance with Noxus, but mostly unaffiliated Champions who were too concerned with their own agendas to become tangled in political affairs, or simply didn't care. It was enough to dishearten them all, and wonder, when the time came, would their efforts be enough.

* * *

As quickly as the healer's had worked on her, it had almost been three weeks since she'd stepped foot outside the Infirmary, and it hadn't been without a price; if given their more time, she might have walked away with no visible damage, but time was short and the assassin knew as much. Her legs were marred with uneven spots, pale and shiny, but altogether not as terrible as the Noxian anticipated. She wasn't nearly as vain as her sister, but the looks of sympathy or curiosity she'd received as she passed through the halls were almost enough to drive her pack to her room for pants, no matter how uncomfortable they felt.

Instead, she raised her chin higher and directed her gaze straight ahead until she was in the comforting quiet of one of the League's many training areas, and spent the day stalking the sawdust-filled dummies as quietly as a cat. A delicate whirl and the dummy spilled open, stabbed again from behind a second before the dust reached the ground. Katarina frowned, stretching out her legs once more; she'd expected to be slow, but it was still disconcerting. Normally the wound would have barely split before the assassin was behind them.

Unexpectedly, footsteps approached and the door opened, but she didn't have to look to know who it was; she hid her smile.

"Tired of practicing with straw yet?" Garen asked.

The assassin turned and sent a knife speeding past his face with a casual flick of her wrist. "Shouldn't you be up in the mountains talking to the Rakkor?"

The Demacian plucked the knife from the door behind him and sent it back; she caught it with ease. "It went faster than I thought," he said, drawing his own blade. "Mention 'war' and they're ready to fight."

A short laugh escaped her and she disappeared, only to materialize seemingly out of thin air behind the soldier. He blocked her blade as it swung toward his side and twisted away to dodge its twin. "I'll never understand how you can move like that," he grunted, striking high, low, and mid only to be met by her steel each time.

"It's a secret that will die with me," she snickered as she lunged at him, meaning to launch into a spin that would allow her to throw out a flurry of knives, difficult to block and incredibly deadly. But her legs were weak and her foot rolled, sending the knives clattering to the ground as her hands and knees met the dirt.

In an instant, Garen dropped his sword and knelt beside her. "You're pushing yourself too hard," he murmured, gently guiding her back into a sitting position; Katarina gritted her teeth and let her hair hang in her face, saying nothing. His hands ghosted over her bare legs, searching her knees and ankles for swelling until she winced. "Knew it," he muttered weakly, reaching into the pocket of his vest and handing her a tiny vial of red liquid, which she took with a grumble.

"You don't have to baby me," she mumbled, letting the healing potion mend the torn ligaments in her ankle. "When this war starts, there won't be any place for weakness."

He bit his lip, staring down at her foot that was propped in his lap. "You've only been out of the hospital for a few days. It'd be stupid to wear yourself out completely before a battle." Reaching out to brush the bangs from her face, he added, "It's hardly weak to take care of yourself."

The assassin sighed, but nodded at the truth in his words. She didn't want to admit it, but finally sitting down made her feel exhausted. Instead she changed the subject. "Do you think we're gonna lose?"

He gave her an incredulous stare. "I didn't come all this way to lose."

"It's always a possibility in any battle, isn't it?" she pointed out. "We could die."

A fire sparked in his eyes as he replied, "I'm not going to let that happen." He meant it, but it was more of a commitment to keep her from harm, not necessarily himself; what would be the point of going on without her? "You're going to be just fine."

It was almost an afterthought, though he'd been toying around with the phrase in his head for the past few weeks and it had been lingering dangerously close to the tip of his tongue. He hadn't planned on saying anything else just then, but before he could stop himself, the words tumbled unbidden from his mouth:

"I love you, Katarina."

Her green eyes widened and her cheeks caught fire instantly; his own expression mirrored hers, and his mouth formed a small 'o' as he desperately tried to remember how to breath.

"W-what did you sa-"

A crash separated them as the door bust open revealing Talon followed by a purple-robed summoner with the crest of Noxus blazoned across his chest, both breathless from running.

"It's time," Talon gasped. "Swain marches."


	16. Facing Fears

_Hnnng, I'm sorry there haven't been more Garen/Kat scenes. To be honestly, I got kinda carried away with the story arc, hurrhurr. Looks like I won't finish the story before my classes start, but it's close. _

_Disclaimer: Throughout these next few chapters, there's going to be a lot of Champions. Sorry if your favorite person doesn't make an appearance, but I've got (what I hope) are good reasons for who shows and who doesn't. Some of them are already tenuous at best._

_Did you know yordles see infrared? How cool is that!? They're like little night vision wards!_

_I hope this fight is ok... Let me know! _

* * *

_Facing Fears_

* * *

"What's the situation?" Garen demanded as he, Katarina, and Talon stood rigidly around the Summoner Niko in the privacy of Talon's room. The red-haired assassin avoided his eye, her face tinted with the vestiges of a blush, and had placed her adoptive brother between them. The time to take back his words had passed but the soldier forced himself to focus on the matter at hand; berating himself could wait until later.

His gravelly voice low, Niko replied, "Swain has begun the final preparations for his march. His loyal houses have begun to pack their equipment and have finalized their supply trains. Marcus estimates a day, maybe two before they officially leave out, but we've already spied summoners scouting near the Institute. But even though his goal is here, he will head for Kalamanda first, so he can establish a base of sorts and draw on the powers of the two Nexus there."

"And how many does Swain have in his army?" the Demacian pressed.

The summoner shook his head. "Each of the Noxian houses are bringing their personal guard, on top of the Raedsel Guard and of course the general standing army. Swain also drafted all able-bodied citizens who weren't a part of the standing army and all the Noxian summoners he could convince." He sighed, "His numbers are already over 3,000, 500 of which are loyal to General DuCouteau, and there's talk of reinforcements from Zaun."

Talon inhaled sharply. "So many. There's no way the LeBlanc and the Institute won't see this coming. He just plans on marching his army his army right up the highroad?"

"He assumes the Institute-rather, LeBlanc and her spies- know he's coming," Niko explained. "There's not much use in hiding it at this point."

"So is she going to get the jump on him?" Katarina frowned.

A doubtful look twisted the summoner's face. "General DuCouteau said it's most likely that Vessaria will make an offer of peace or surrender first, to cover her ass. If she's smart, she'll move out to Kalamanda before he gets there, and have the Institute as a fall back if things start going poorly. The proximity of two nexuses could really make this battle intense."

"Then we will wait for both armies in Kalamanda and destroy them," Garen growled.

"I agree we should be there before them, but don't forget, our mission is to hunt down Vessaria and LeBlanc," Katarina said sharply.

The soldier shot her a disgruntled look. "If LeBlanc even shows on the battlefield," he mumbled.

"She'll show," the assassin swore, with a confidence that did not reach her eyes.

"Call your allies," Niko stated, ignoring their exchange. "We've got a few days to ready the counter."

"Send the General our thanks," Talon replied. "We'll be there, no matter what happens." The summoner gave a quick nod and raised his hands, and in a blue flash, disappeared.

"So, he's essentially 2,500 strong?" Katarina scoffed. "Better pray we can bring down LeBlanc and Vessaria before we're slaughtered."

"Don't say that," Talon reprimanded. "We'll be formidable enough on our own."

As the two DuCouteau's argued, Garen turned toward the door, earning the attention of both. "I'm going to send final requests to all the city-states and Champions we spoke to," he muttered before swiftly shutting the door behind him.

"What's his deal?" Talon queried. Usually the Demacian was reluctant to leave Katarina, and even more so to leave an argument without putting in his opinion. But the Sinister Blade only replied with an uncaring shrug, though a faint blush crept up her cheeks. Frowning, Talon said, "Not that I care, but did you have a fight or something? I'm only asking because there won't be any place to be distracted on the battlefield, so fix it before then."

"It's none of your business," she hissed, pushing past him. "And don't question my ability to focus in a fight! I'm more than capable." The door slammed behind her and she stomped away, the blush on her face growing more fierce once alone in the dim hall as she considered Garen's earlier confession. How could he spring something like that on her _now, _when she needed to concentrate the most?

The assassin made her way to her own room, heart thudding rapidly in her chest. Romantic feelings were never something she ruminated on, though she was well past the point of denying that she harbored them for the Demacian. But... love? What did that even mean?

She whipped her head back and forth, desperately trying to clear it. Eventually she would need to give him an answer, and a small shiver of fear worked its way through her at the prospect. Upon reaching her room, she quietly set to sharpening her blades, taking comfort in the rhythmic activity.

It was funny, she thought, that three little words frightened her more than the war looming on the horizon.

* * *

Kiersta Mandrake tried her best to relax with her cup of tea as she sat across from Vessaria in the latter's elegant office. It seemed that not everyone was willing to cooperate with the restrictions they'd agreed upon, but that wasn't exactly a surprise to Kiersta. Initially, she'd been against the whole idea, but Vessaria had been very convincing and insisted that working individually with the city-states would help to stabilize the conflicts that had been occurring.

That was before the reports of summoners abusing their powers came rolling in from across Valoran.

The two weeks prior had been a nightmare of diplomacy, trying to understand who was right and who was wrong in the whole situation: Summoners insisted the citizens were violent and rebellious, while citizens claimed the summoners were unnecessarily abusive. Handling conflict was never her strong suit, and it was enough to make her want to retreat to the calm of her home.

To complicate matters further, there was Garen Crownguard's second Judgment to consider. If only it had come _before _the High Council agreed to the restrictions, Kiersta would have trusted her instincts and opposed the proposition. But she was too weak and stupid to realize she was being played for the fool, and what a fool she'd bee-

"Kiersta, is something troubling you?"

The High Councilor realized she'd been gripping her teacup so tightly her knuckles were white, and loosened her hold immediately. "Apologies, Vessaria. It's just these rumors of war have me worried."

Vessaria nodded in understanding. "These are troubling times, though it is no surprise a challenge would rise from someone like Jericho Swain." Flipping her long auburn hair over her shoulder, she added, "And rumors they are not. Loyal summoners have confirmed to me that Swain intends to declare war by taking Kalamanda from the League."

A hesitant look found its way to Kiersta's face. "Can we not propose peace before such a thing happens? If another battle were to occur in Kalamanda, it could be a disaster for Valoran..."

"I would offer them a chance to surrender," Vessaria replied with a smirk that did not strike Kiersta as being very merciful. "Valoran has seen the Institute's might already. Swain would be a fool not to accept."

She knows he will not back down, the summoner thought despairingly. Her slim fingers twitched against her cooling cup; she could try to end it now, kill Vessaria with her own hands from where she sat. Would it stop Swain? Would it stop the impending war? Could things go back to normal if she did? Shaking, she raised her hand...

...and quickly brushed aside her hair. No, she couldn't do it. She was afraid.

"I have no doubts that the Institute's summoners and fighters can put Swain's little rebellion to rest," Vessaria continued. "Our summoners are quite loyal." She leveled a hard stare at the timid woman across from her. "You will stand with us, won't you?"

The words of a corrupted summoner, Kiersta reminded herself, taking strength from it. If Vessaria thought her a fool, let her play the part; next time, Vessaria would not suspect her, and she would not be afraid.

"Of course," she lied, setting her cup down and rising to her feet. "I will do what's best for Valoran."

* * *

"Has there been any word from anyone? Someone has to be coming, right?"

Talon had been pacing around the library, waiting for the Curator to return, and had promptly bombarded him with questions. Two days had passed since Marcus's summoner approached them, and he'd come again that day with confirmation of the Grand General's advance.

"Demacia, the Rakkor, and Bandle City have responded in the affirmative," Nasus relayed. "Jarvan IV brings many allies, most of the Demacian Champions in fact, along with a battalion of soldiers from the Demacian Elite Guard and Vanguard and a company of Demacian summoners. He, the ladies Luxanna, Shyvana, Fiora, and Sona, as well as Galio and Poppy all will join us on the battlefield. Pantheon leads a small force of warriors from Mount Targon, and the Rakkor have agreed to provide supplies for a time should the battle run long. From Bandle City, a company of Meglings and Scouts, led by Teemo and Tristana and joined by almost all of Bandle City's League Champions."

The assassin groaned. "Yordles hardly count, and even so, will it be enough? Swain marches with over 2,500."

The Curator placed one of his large hands on the Noxian's shoulder. "Do not fret. There is still time. We have many independent Champions on our side as well, all of whom are here and ready. Quality over quantity, friend."

A sound of objection fell from his lips. "I know, but both would be much more reassuring," he grumbled. "And for all the summoners loyal to their city-states, there are even more loyal to Vessaria. The halls are packed with them now, more than I ever even knew existed."

"She's likely promised them power if they aid her, but their greed and blood thirst blinds them to our counter. No one is concerned with the number of Champions present," Nasus mused, turning to a book titled _Military Tactics_. "Besides, how much use will summoners be when confronted with blades?"

Sulking, Talon conceded the point. "You're quite the optimist."

A wry smile pulled at Nasus's maw. "Only familiar with war."

* * *

Garen had thrown himself into contacting every Champion who had given him a 'maybe', intent on giving Katarina all the distance she seemed to desire. Part of him was afraid to see her, afraid she would reject him, but it didn't change what he said; with a red face, he replayed the scene for the hundredth time that day: _I told her that I loved her._

For two days he forced down his fear and shame, pushing it underneath the mission he'd set for himself. His hand was cramped from writing letters and his head spinning from talking with those who happened to be in the Institute, but it was a worthwhile effort. Many of the independent Champions agreed to meet the force in Kalamanda, some eagerly now that war was on their doorstep. No reply had yet come from Freljord and Piltover, and the Demacian feared it would be too late to receive help from the North.

Now that Swain was on the march and the time had passed to recruit, the soldier sat dejectedly on bed, sharpening the edges of his sword, the last task he needed to complete before he was ready. When night fell, they would march under the cover of darkness to Kalamanda and evacuate any citizens or summoners who remained, by force if necessary.

A gentle knock on his door roused him from his reverie, and he carefully but down his blade and whetstone before hesitantly pulling open the door.

"Hey," Riven called, lifting her hand in greeting. "Can I come in?"

Heaving a sigh of relief, he opened the door to let her pass. "Sure, make yourself at home." The Noxian pulled a chair that rested in the corner to sit across from him as he resumed his task. "Need your blade sharpened?" he asked.

She shook her head. "Hardly. My sword is enchanted black stone. Even broken it does not lose its edge. I only came to see that you were prepared. Did you know Cassiopeia did not even know what to bring?"

That brought a smile to his face; he couldn't imagine the high-maintenance woman ever being in a true battle. "I'm more surprised that she's even coming," he said.

"She is a Noxian," Riven replied, a hint of criticism in her tone. "She is strong, in her own way. Why would she not?" Garen gave a shrug that gave way into awkward silence.

"Do you know where Katarina is?" she asked suddenly, her grim voice breaking the silence and earning a wince from the Demacian.

"I haven't seen her in a couple of days," he admitted. "She's not in her room?"

An odd expression alighted on Riven's face, a mix of confusion and interest. "I have not checked yet. I just assumed she would be with you."

"Well I'm sure wherever she is, she's more than ready to move out," he retorted.

Another moment of quiet fell, until Riven stood and pushed the chair back into the corner. Pausing at the door, the Exile turned and murmured, "In battle, you must be completely focused, with no traces of doubt. You would do well to clear your mind, or start making peace with your god," before exiting as quietly as she'd entered.

A minute passed, then ten, as Garen pondered the Exile's advice. He stopped sharpening his blade, then shoved the whetstone into his pack atop a bedroll and potions, a sash and pendant the armorer swore were magic resistant, jerky and dried fruit. He checked the armor underneath his vest and jacket, his vambraces, double-checked that his one remaining pauldron was secured, before sheathing his sword on his back and swinging his bag over his shoulder; he would not be coming back.

His gaze was distant but his feet knew the path and maneuvered him around the summoners filling the halls: south down the hall, one-hundred feet, turn east, sixty-five feet, knock. Footsteps approached, and his heart began to pound.

"I thought I told you to go away, Riven," Katarina called, swinging open the door. "I don't need-"

"Hey."

The Noxian stuttered into silence, the uncharacteristic look of doubt taking hold of her face and she shut the door.

"Katarina! Hear me out," the soldier pleaded, resting his head against the smooth wooden door. "I know I could have picked a better time, but I mean what I said. You don't have to say anything to me, ever if you don't want. But if I make it through this, just know that I'll be here, if you ever want to see me, ok?"

Silence.

Sighing, he pushed away from the surface and moved to leave, when the soft creak of hinges bade him to turn. He only caught a glimpse of black and red before the assassin's deft fingers were tugging at his hair, pulling him into a clumsy kiss. Summoners flashed them glances as they passed the couple, curious or angry, but the Noxian and Demacian didn't notice as they stood connected in the hall, his arms around her back, pulling her body as close to him as he could, her leather-clad legs wrapped around his waist.

She pulled away, her green eyes looking down into his blue ones."I love you, too," came her reply, soft but sure. "I-I didn't know what... I'm sorry, I just didn't know what to say, I've never felt-"

Her words were lost as his lips found hers again and again, until both were breathless and weak.

"You don't get a choice," she whispered. "You have to live because I love you."

"Count on it," he laughed, setting her down.

Whistles went up along with applause from the people in the hall, and Katarina flashed them a glare and choice finger while Garen blushed, grabbing her hand and pulling her into the room.

* * *

Talon frowned as he surveyed the small group of Champions and summoners in front of him. "Jax, you couldn't bring a real weapon?" he barked.

"Don't need it," the three-fingered Champion shrugged, his ragged brass lamppost held firmly in his grasp. The strange man was only present because Garen had convinced him that the Demacian government would compensate him for his services.

"The future of this world is at stake! Must you make everything a jest?" Kayle remarked, her folded wings rustling in agitation.

Waving a hand, the Blade's Shadow groaned, "Never mind, it's not important! Everyone know what our mission is?"

Olaf was quick to answer. "OBLITERATION OF OUR ENEMIES!"

"Er, well-"

"We punish the reckless mages!" the Twisted Treant Maokai rumbled.

"Guys, I-"

A giant mound of rock shifted and Malphite ground out, "Smash!"

Talon hung his head in exasperation, and Katarina rested her gloved hand on his shoulder.

"I think we all know why we are here," the soft-spoken Taric replied, "even if some have interpreted it to their own reasoning."

"THE BEJEWELED ONE IS CORRECT," Blitzcrank beeped in a woosh of steam. "THERE IS ONLY A 39% CHANCE OF SUCCESS BUT WE HAVE COME. THIS IS THE ONLY FACT OF CONSEQUENCE."

"Thank you, Blitzcrank, for those encouraging numbers," Talon muttered. "Alright everyone! Forget I said anything and let's just get going!"

With some of the creatures in their ranks, there was no hope of being silent, but the Institute was dark and Vessaria and her summoners slept blissfully unaware of the army moving from beneath them. It was an odd motley of figures that marched toward Kalamanda; even the most unsuspecting of Champions had joined: Ryze who only muttered that he must keep his scroll from the summoners' prying hands; and Skarner, the wise brackern who's brethren slept beneath the earth near Kalamanda, who said he would protect them with his life.

And for the short march to Kalamanda, they all allowed themselves to hope their reasons for war would turn the battle in their favor.

"Remember the last time there was a war in Kalamanda? You stabbed me," Garen teased Katarina, who grinned.

"Well you kissed me!" she shot back, earning a laugh.

Nodding at the odd pair that laughed in the face of war, Nasus murmured to Zilean, "Is it not strange, how things have turned out?"

The old chronomage shook his head, his beard wagging back and forth. "Of all the paths," he chuckled. "How could I have known the most unlikely of paths would cross and result in this? The love of a child for her father, of a soldier for an assassin, the desire for justice that burns so strongly. Without them, we would have fallen under the thrall of corrupted magicians, slaves to their every whim."

"But you still don't know how it will end?"

"No," Zilean sighed. "And I am afraid I will not until it is too late to change."

* * *

Convincing what few citizens remained in Kalamanda since the last battle to evacuate the area once more was no easy task, especially in the middle of the night, but by dawn the city known as the Crystal Scar was empty. Garen felt for the few miners who had stuck around in the harsh lands after the brief war waged by Demacia and Noxus; the lives they'd salvaged would be lost once again to factors out of their control.

But they couldn't afford to let Swain take the city and its nexuses and needed LeBlanc and Vessaria to move away from the Institute. It could only be Kalamanda.

The made what fortifications they could from the existing structures, moving stones from the quarry to create blockades and creating traps that when stepped upon would open up into the bottomless mines below the town. With the Great Barrier and Mount Targon at their backs, and small projections of rocks surrounding it, it would be nigh impossible for anyone to get into the town without their knowledge. By Garen's estimation, when Demacia arrived from the West and the Rakkor from the South, they would have about 1,000 people total and would be soundly outnumbered, but with Swain fighting LeBlanc and the power flowing from the Nexuses, the field was a little closer to even.

They worked until dawn with little talk and rested when they could, and the dawn brought with it the smiling and grim faces of the yordles and Rakkor, respectively. The yordles with their seemingly endless optimism were a difficult bunch to handle on so little sleep, but Teemo and Corki quickly organized their forty scouts into groups for shift surveillance, and Tristana set her twenty Megling Commandos to aid the Ziggs and Heimerdinger in laying explosive mines and techmaturgical turrets around the city's perimeter.

The warriors of the Rakkor, however, were eager in a different way; the blood lust emanating from them was almost palpable, ready to show Runeterra what war truly meant, yhough Pantheon, the Artisan of War, was absent. He'd gone, his men said, to Targon's peak to appeal to the Solari Chosen, his childhood friend Leona, despite their urgings that they didn't need the help of a woman who refused to kill. Garen didn't care, so long as the fearsome man showed.

It was as night began to fall that Teemo came rushing back into camp, calling for the leaders to meet at the empty house they established as their base of operations. Hopping up onto the table on which a map of Valoran rested. "Swain!"he reported, out of breath. "He's gonna split his army into two. A smaller force, maybe 'bout 200, is gonna head this way, but his main army is goin' to the Institute of War. Seems there's about forty summoners, maybe, a little over a hundred soldiers, forty guys on horses, and ten of the guys with the big helmets and four red eyes-"

"The Raedsel Guard," Riven corrected.

"Them," Teemo added, "ten of them. Plus there's three Champions, Darius, Sion, and Vladimir."

Katarina swore. "Why didn't we anticipate that?"

"Because we're not tacticians," Cassiopeia hissed.

"Will this not be to our benefit though?" Nasus posed. "We will have no problems handling a small force, and Swain will not anticipate our resistance. He's now, essentially without 200 soldiers which will be easier for us to manage now, and help us in the longer term."

Rapping her knuckles against the map, Riven barked, "Teemo, where exactly is he? How fast will he be here?"

The yordle studied the map, then pointed to a nearby area North-East of their location. "Here," he stated, with a sudden seriousness. "And they'll split here," he added, pointing to a location much closer to Kalamanda. "They've been goin' kinda slow, so they'll be here maybeee... the day after tomorrow, mid-mornin'. But if they move swiftly, tomorrow as the sun sets."

"Will your scouts be able to stay out at night?" the Exile questioned. "The last thing we want is for them to steal a night's march on us."

"'Course," the scout grinned. "We do best at night. Don't worry 'bout being snuck up on!"

Pacing about the dusty wooden floors, Garen said, "Once this contingent is defeated, we must move to the Institute. This whole thing is useless if LeBlanc and Vessaria don't come out."

Riven nodded. "Agreed. We must be flexible to ensure our goals are met."

"Let's make sure everyone else knows what's going on, then," Talon commanded, pushing away from the dusty wall on which he leaned and motioning the others to move. "And hope no one changes their minds," he added under his breath.

* * *

The sun was beginning to crest over the Eastern-most part of the Southern Barrier as Garen slowed to walk after an early morning jog around the town's edge. Pausing on an outcropping of rock that lead up to the Barrier's steep sides, the Demacian watched the crystalline nexuses, situated on the East and West ends of the village, as their glowing waxed and waned. When matches weren't being held, both emitted a soft blue light, and the turrets were dark and disabled until a summoner channeled the nexus's energy. The only other movement came from the West end nexus: Skarner, scuttling back from his observance of the grounds in which his people still slept.

"Still nothing from the scouts today," Katarina observed quietly, appearing at his side and causing him to jump. Dressed in her traditional black leathers, the Noxian looked every bit as beautiful and deadly as the first time he saw her, even with the sleepless circles under her eyes.

"You can't make some noise to let me know you're coming?" he gasped.

The assassin smirked, "Where's the fun in that?" but her smile faded quickly. "Do you think they were discovered? Teemo said the army would be here this morning."

Shaking his head, the soldier replied, "I can't imagine one of them being seen. Nobody suspects a yordle."

"I guess that's true," she admitted, walking down the rocky path. "Especially not an army of Noxians. Most everyone thinks yordles are useless, but they've never been on the receiving end of a poisoned dart."

"See?" he assured. "They'll probably be back by the time we get to command. I'm more concerned about where Jarvan is... He was supposed to be here by now, and the scouts haven't seen any trace of him."

Katarina reached up to put a slender hand on his shoulder. "He wouldn't lie to you. He'll be here."

Their talk of yordles was an easy distraction from the edgy feeling that accompanied the battle that was ever present in their minds, and the scouts had indeed returned when the pair arrived.

"We got an hour and half, I'd say, maybe two," one of the yordle scouts claimed, receiving nods from his teammate and Captain.

Jax waved his lamppost threateningly. "It'll be easy. We prepped for an army, not a tiny group like this, This battle is as good as won."

"I agree with the Lamppost Warrior!" Olaf bellowed, shaking his axes. "This fight will be ours."

Before the conversation could escalate, Talon quickly interjected, "Yes, agreed. Now, let's go over the plan and get to our positions."

It was simple enough, even for those like Cassiopeia with little to no real battle experience: Wait for the first line to hit the hidden hexplosives; activate the small turrets; wait; charge; retreat if necessary; second line of hexplosives and turrets; clean up. If Pantheon returned with Leona, they would total twenty-three Champions and ten summoners, sixty yordles, and almost a hundred Rakkor, nearly 200 to match. A seemingly small number, but the Champions were paragons of their crafts, stronger than the average soldier. Some like Kayle with otherworldly abilities and the Rakkor boasted an individual to be worth ten foot soldiers. Summoners could conjure life-sized corporeal soldiers and mages, popularly referred to as 'minions,' to carry out the most basic commands, which could add to their numbers and serve as distractions.

Garen passed by the five heaping mounds of metal which Heimerdinger had lugged all the way from Bandle City and grinned confidently; maybe if the little yordle kept those going, they wouldn't even need to lift a finger. From his position near the East nexus, the Demacian was poised along with the brawnier soldiers to lead the charge on the infantry when they broke past the first line of hexplosives and turrets. Support would come from all sides in the form of the yordle Commandos and Scouts, and those Champions and summoners who had the skills to fight from a distance.

A collective breath was taken and a rush of adrenaline coursed through the company as the army appeared, cresting a hill from the East, a mile away, then half. The Noxians had no idea what they were marching into; they weren't even in formation for a fight. A majority of the cavalry led, five abreast, with the infantry and summoners trailing behind, with the Raedsel, remaining cavalry, and Champions at the rear.

The center of the first line of hexplosives detonated with a deafening boom and a chorus of screams from men and horses alike went up as magical energy, heat, and pressure surged through them like fire. A lesser man might have lost control of his men, but Darius was the pinnacle of Noxian discipline. Striding through the ranks bellowing commands, the Hand of Noxus brandished his axe and looked toward the seemingly empty village that lay ahead.

From behind him came a wave of conjured soldiers pouring from the palms of the summoners and disappearing in an explosion of fire as they progressed over the rest of the hidden mines.

"Well he's smarter than he looks," Jax mumbled from somewhere behind Garen, who motioned the Grandmaster at Arms to be silent. The troops progressed cautiously past the remains of their comrades behind their magical army, now only 1,500 feet away from the outermost edge, and Talon's voice pierced the air as he shouted, "Now!"

A low buzz started, quickly growing louder until bursts of magical energy shot from all two of Heimerdinger's five turrets, bombarding the company. Minions dissolved along with the soldiers, but the attacks gave way as half the summoners hastily invoked a magical shield over the troops. Recognizing what was occurring, the Hand of Noxus bellowed an order to the white-haired Vladimir, who seemed to be enjoying the sight of his slaughtered comrades. "GO INFORM GENERAL SWAIN!"

The hemomancer nodded lazily and seemed to melt into the blood spilled on the ground. Sion lumbered up to Darius's side, and the Commander urged them all forward in a charge.

With a cry of their own, the Champions followed Garen into the melee, catching the dwindling force by surprise and suddenly Kalamanda was alive with clashing of steel and brass and magic.

The infantry was at a disadvantage against creatures such as Malphite, Maokai, and Skarner, their weapons seemingly ineffective against the rock , wood, and crystal exoskeletons of the magical Champions; the Treant thrust his root-like limbs into the ground and a shockwave of magic forced the soldiers into stumbling back over themselves. A beam of blinding energy exploded from the curved point of the brackern's wicked tail, raking along a line of fallen soldiers and leaving a wake of crystal shards in their skin and armor.

Nearby, Malphite's relentless attacks seemed to fracture the earth around him, sending fragments of rock into the faces of the soldiers, and he bade the ground beneath them to shift, causing them to lose their footing. The magically imbued spears and swords of the Rakkor moved in a blur, slicing through the soldiers with ease. But as they group pressed their quick advantage, a wave of energy cut through them, knocking them all to the dirt.

"Take out the summoners!" Garen shouted, jumping to his feet. At his call, a hail of yordle darts and missiles rained from the outcroppings on either side of the village, a small line of bombs from the sky as Corki flew by overhead, and bolts of energy and poison from Ryze and Cassiopeia and what few summoners they had for allies. Some found their targets, sending the magicians to their knees as poison or fire or magic ripped through them, but the spell shields were strong and much of the assault diverted harmlessly to the side. Realizing it was no use, the blue mage motioned for them to switch targets.

They defended from the rocks, blasting enemies who tried to take advantage of an ally's unguarded back and raking clusters of the conjured soldiers from the field to clear paths for advancement. Cassiopeia couldn't help but smirk as the weak succumbed, purple-faced and choking, to the poisons she flung from her claws; it certainly wasn't the Fields of Justice, but death still looked the same.

Beside her, Tristana gave an irritated cry of "Boring!" before reloading her rocket launcher and hopping nimbly down the rocky slope, leaping for the fray. Just before she reached the ground, the yordle took aim and fired, the missile exploding in the face of an unfortunate Raedsel soldier and knocking the nearby enemies on their backs. Giggling all the while, the Megling Commando shot again, this time riding the shockwave of the blast to safety while the explosion disintegrated the legs of the enemy in front of her.

Fighting alongside Darius, Sion the Undead appeared unphased by the blades which cut his flesh as he swung his axe in a wide arc to guard his superior, catching several of the Rakkor unawares. As he readied to swing again and finish them, his weapon met the heavy brass of Jax's lamppost, who beckoned him away from the Noxian commander with a few quick hits of his lamppost that would have sent a normal man sprawling. Blocking the brute's wild swipes with a calculated spin of his weapon, the three-fingered Champion patiently exploited all the openings Sion's strikes allowed. But even after trading blows it seemed to Jax that his foe hardly tired.

Finally the Undead Champion let out a roar and a bolt of energy shot from his fist and hit Jax squarely in the chest. There was a break in arms-master's attacks as he tried to catch his breath, and just as the grinning Noxian moved in to kill, there was a sickening squelch as one axe, then another, implanted themselves deep in his back. In a fluid motion, Olaf leapt onto the roaring Champion's back and twisted the axes as he pulled them from their lodging, before dodging a missile of magic and continuing on through the battlefield. With a grin only he knew was there, Jax noted that as he resumed his attack on the monstrous Champion, Sion finally looked like he was weakening.

Further away, the three remaining Raedsel guards, which were formidable even outnumbered, had come to an impasse in the form of Garen and Riven, unable to break through their defense, but yielding no ground themselves. However, they were no match for the combined efforts of League Champions. Rushing forward to support the two, magic burst forth from the tip of Nasus's staff, and Zilean bent the flow of time to his will, causing the Raedsel to slow unnaturally, and Riven and Garen dashed in: The former struck in quick succession, sending the men reeling from the powerful blows that left their armor and the bones beneath it crushed; the latter followed with a wide swing of his sword, pivoting to slice cleanly through two of their throats, and heaving his sword through the last soldier's eyes.

More and more bolts of magic were flying from the Noxian summoners, and the mages attacking from the high ground were forced to abandon their vantage point as the boulders shielding them were slowly worn away. As they fled, a cry suddenly went up from the distracted Noxian summoners, as a slew of knives went arcing out from the center of their group, piercing through their unguarded flesh and again as they returned to their owner, who materialized just as he slipped away from the confused group.

Hundreds of the mindless minions disappeared in a puff of smoke as their summoners died, and the bolts of magic being cast haphazardly diminished. Just as Talon edged away, Katarina flashed in, her body spinning gracefully as a dancer's as she imbedded knives into the remaining summoners throats. The assassins seemed to vanish as unexpectedly as they appeared, only to sink their blades into the unguarded necks of their enemies as they stalked through what was left of the army from behind.

Darius was enraged. Never had he been so entirely outclassed in a battle, but as he yanked his axe from the corpse of another Rakkor, a bugle sounded in the distance still miles away, and the Hand of Noxus shouted, "HOLD!" Reinforcements were coming; if they could just hold their position...

What remained of his company staggered back slightly to reform around their commander, only a handful in comparison to the two hundred with which he'd entered. Sion trudged on behind him, and as Darius turned to take one last look at the group which had shamed him so, he barely caught a glimpse of the giant, metallic fist which was hurtling for his chest. Without a second thought, the Commander rolled out of the way, but cursed in surprise as the fist twisted and his undead comrade was seized, wrenched back kicking and shouting to the enemy line instead.

He did not look back as Taric channeled the dazzling power of his gems to blind the Undead Champion into stumbling, and only spared him a thought when the Champion cried out as Kayle's sword cleaved his head from his neck.

"C-commander, we won't make it until they get here!" one of his subordinates choked out. The unfortunate man clutched at his bleeding side, the armor that was once there cracked around the wound he'd sustained from Riven.

Hefting his axe, Darius snapped, "We will not retreat!" and began what he knew would be his last charge. Garen calmly advanced toward the Noxian with promises of death across his face and an army at his back. But as the Hand of Noxus took his first step toward his foes, a flash of blue light burst around him. He felt a hand grip his arm and just a quickly as the summoner appeared, he blinked out of sight, Darius in tow.

A moment passed in silence as they all stared blankly at the spot which seconds ago was occupied by Darius and his army. Someone started to chuckle and soon the air was filled with the laughter of an army that had tasted victory.

The elation was short-lived, though, as Teemo climbed up onto Garen's shoulder like a cat and unfurled his spyglass. "We need to regroup, set up some more stuff, and do it fast," the yordle declared. "Looks like Swain's full army is comin' and... and someone's chasin' him-"

Talon swiped the tiny spyglass from the scout's gloved hands and squinted through it. "An army of summoners," he breathed. "Vessaria is actually coming out."

"I could'a told you that," Teemo grumbled slinging the hand-held telescope back over his shoulder.

Garen coughed. "Get off me."

"He's right though," Katarina echoed. "We don't have time to celebrate. We need to heal up, fortify, lay down more mines-"

"I got this!" Ziggs exclaimed.

"Er, great," she nodded. "Go ahead and-"

Before she could finish, a loud clatter came from within the village, and in seconds the company had their weapons drawn and advanced. Stumbling around the corner from the direction of the bar, a pair of yordle scouts came running, chattering incoherently.

"I-it's some guy!" one of them finally squeaked.

"All dressed in gold!" the other finished. "He j-just popped out of that building-"

"Jarvan!" Garen exclaimed, running past them toward the Hasty Hammer, where an innumerable amount of Demacian soldiers were spilling from the building, directed by the Prince. There was a flicker of light and his suddenly his sister had flung herself into his chest.

"Garen!" she squealed.

"H-how!" he stuttered as he held Luxanna out at arms reach.

Laughing heartily, Jarvan IV sauntered over to the company. "Do you know how hard it is to move an army underground?"

The group looked at the crown prince in confusion, but Talon responded, "The passage from the prison?"

"You got it," Jarvan affirmed. It seemed there was no end to the soldiers still filing out behind him. "I had to move in secret for a bunch of reasons, and Luxanna took the liberty of finding out where this tunnel went after I told her about it, so here we are!"

"How many?" Katarina asked.

A smug grin made it's way onto the prince's face. "800. Plus Champions. Everyone wanted to help. Well, everyone except for Xin."

From the throng of soldiers, Garen's former first captain Anders emerged with a salute. "Garen. The Vanguard is still your family." Swinging a large sack from his shoulder, the commander thrust it at the Champion and another passed him a bundle of cloth in the form of a blade.

"Justice," he breathed, tearing away the bindings to reveal his former sword.

"And your old armor, if you want it," Anders stated. "No one else can wield that sword anyway."

Garen looked up, overwhelmed by the display of loyalty from people who owed him none. His eyes scanned the army: Shyvana shouting orders at her Elite Guard; the men and women of the Vanguard; Poppy, riding on the winged shoulders of Galio; Fiora marching through the ranks, lecturing the soldiers about honor while Sona glided behind, plucking an energizing tune on her Etwhal.

"It's not just Swain," he warned. "Vessaria has an army too, and LeBlanc will be here."

Luxanna answered for them all. "We're here because we believe it's the right thing to do. No matter what happens, we will stand for what's right or die trying!"

Behind her, those listening let out a rousing cry. The real fight was only a few miles away: The Institute of War against Swain, their mismatched army against both. Odds be damned, Garen decided adding his voice to the shouts of the army. They didn't come here to fail.

Fight for the truth, or die trying.


	17. Explosions in the Sky

_Thanks for your patience! _

_I hope the descriptions of battle continue to be somewhat realistic and understandable. I did a lot of research on Roman army formation and stuff to get a better understanding but it's still pretty over my head. Plus, it had to be heavily altered to account for things like magic and shtuff. _

_OH YEAH~ So Valren on is translating The Only Truth into Spanish! Hurray! I can't read it myself but I bet it's spot on :D Thank you so much! You can check it at s/8908016/1/La-Verdad-Absoluta._

_Ooooh, the title of this chapter is a band! _

* * *

_Explosions in the Sky_

* * *

Darius stumbled as his still-moving feet landed on unfamiliar ground and the instant his eyes laid upon the summoner who had forcibly caused him to retreat, the Hand's confusion turned into unbridled fury. The summoner tripped over his own feet in his haste to move out of range of the man's vicious axe, but as the soldier prepared the weapon for a swift execution, the Grand General's voice called to him from behind.

"Stay your hand, Commander. I would not have you kill someone acting under my own orders."

Darius whipped around angrily to see Swain stepping down from the carriage which served as his moving command center positioned at the rear of the now-stopped army. His red robes which distinguished him as the Grand General were scarcely visible under the heavy layers of armor he wore. A chain shirt peeked from under a his heavy tunic, both rimmed with gold and belted at the waist. The silver breastplate on his torso was belted over his shoulder and a thick cord connecting his silver and gold pauldrons hung across it. Feathers so black they appeared blue and matching the raven which perched on his shoulder jutted from underneath, and a heavy cape the same color fell from his back. He'd traded his notched wooden cane for a smooth staff with a golden raven's head mounted on top, its cruelly sharp beak curving down toward Swain's claw-like hand. A fitted black collar covered from the General's neck to nose, and a plumed helm was tucked under his arm. Such colorful and oversized armor should have swallowed a man of Swain's stature, but the Tactician wore them easily, his red eyes blazing like fire commanding more attention than his garb.

"SWAIN!" Nearby soldiers and summoners flinched at the Hand's red-faced rage, but Jericho Swain continued his calm approach. He still used his staff to walk, but his limp seemed lessened as he strode purposefully toward his subordinate.

"Do you intend to behead me as so many before me for ordering your early return?" the Tactician asked, his voice betraying no hint of fear as he cut straight to point.

The axe begged for blood to right such a grievous wrong; Darius _never _retreated. "Retreat is weakness, Swain!" he growled, bringing the axe to rest at the General's neck; the camp didn't move, didn't breathe. "The only way I leave a battle is victorious or dead! I was ready to die-"

"And I needed you to live," Swain replied coolly. "The battle has not even begun; did your ghost plan to lead my troops?" When the Hand said nothing and his axe remained still, the older man shook his head and turned. "There are larger things at stake than your paltry honor. Do not forget that. If you are so concerned, then be sure to win next time. Now come. Vessaria wishes to attempt a negotiation."

* * *

"Why isn't anyone moving?" Katarina muttered to Talon, tracing and retracing her steps along the highest ridge of rock along the city's Southern border. "It's been a too long; why is nothing happening?"

From their point, the two assassins had watched as Swain's army slowly ground to a halt North-East from them, not more than a mile away. And shortly after him, the Institute of War with an army of summoners, Champions, and soldiers smaller than Swain's, but larger than their own, finally stopped their own march, coming to rest North-West of Kalamanda, but still largely situated between Swain and the Institute.

That had been thirty minutes ago, and since then, they'd watched as High Councilors Vessaria Kolminye and Kiersta Mandrake stood with Jericho Swain and his Hand Darius in the rocky field between their respective armies. What Katarina would have given to be listening to _that_ conversation.

Her adoptive brother shrugged his shoulders slowly, never peeling the borrowed spyglass from his face. "They keep gesturing over here. Maybe they're planning to attack us together. Wouldn't that be a riot?"

"Real fucking hilarious," she grumbled. "Are they still talking?"

"Yep. Looks heated maybe?" Talon handed her the yordle-sized hand held telescope and rubbed his eyes. "Kiersta and Darius are walking away." The red-head took up the watch, trying to guess what Swain and Vessaria could be talking about alone, and everything seemed to happen at once. She saw the High Councilor reach out a hand to the General, but as he reached to take it, the Noxian paused, and suddenly the raven that perched customarily on his shoulder swooped down, talons raking into the summoner's arm, and for a second Katarina could have sworn the woman's image _flickered_... But before she could even consider what she'd seen a loud _crack _sounded throughout the area and Vessaria and Swain were flung away from each other to land in the dusty ground. They staggered to their feet and seemed to yell something at each other, before storming back toward their respective armies.

"Holy shit!" Katarina breathed, shoving the spyglass at Talon and taking off at a sprint down the path, her bewildered brother close on her heels; they hadn't even reached the village before the air was filled with the thunder of marching. No one needed to see what had happened to know what those sounds meant, and as the DuCouteau's dashed toward their "command" center, their motley army was already forming into make-shift ranks.

The building was noisy and crowded with Champions: at the center of the clamor sat Jarvan, Garen, and Riven, trying their best to construct a plan. Teemo sat on the map arguing with Lux and Shyvana; Sona plucked out an anxious tune nearby Zilean, who was shaking his head; Blitzcrank in the opposite corner disputed Nasus's tactics with statistics.

Katarina crossed the room and put a hand on Garen's back, who was now clad in his old Vanguard armor, and leaned in to whisper urgently, "If we're going to do something it needs to be now. Swain and Vessaria are fighting each other."

The Demacian turned to her, finding solace in her fierce green eyes. A look of resolve came to his face, and he abruptly he stood, slamming his fist onto the table. The room grew quiet.

"Listen up everyone," he bellowed. "We can't debate what-if's anymore, so here's what's going to happen. With Vessaria at his back, Swain's in a bad position; he can't take this town without turning his back to her, and he's blocking her from reaching Kalamanda. They've made the mistake of ignoring us to fight each other. We need to use this to our advantage. We wait for them to start fighting, then go in."

"And what's to stop them from turning on us both when they see us approaching?" Riven shot back. "We need to be more cautious!"

Garen scowled at the argument but it was his sister who replied. "I can bend the light around us. They won't see us coming," she declared, aiming a disarming smile at Riven who fell into silence. "Besides, you should know how chaotic a battlefield is. They're not just going to stop fighting each other to fight us."

"AFTER RE-EVALUATING THE FACTS, THERE IS A 41% POSSIBILITY OF SUCCESS," Blitzcrank intoned, and for a moment it seemed like the room was going to burst into despair again, until Talon weakly joked, "That's better than before," and a low chuckle went through the room. Sona brought her hands to bear and played a short but powerful measure of encouraging notes and the mood shifted to one of determination.

"Teemo, we need scouts keeping an eye on Vessaria and Swain at all times, and always looking for LeBlanc," Jarvan added. "The last thing we want is someone slipping through our fingers. No one tries to run without our knowing."

The yordle looked to Garen, who nodded, and his yellow eyes closed as his characteristic grin took over his face. "Got it."

"Everyone move out!" Garen cried and the walls shook with the cheers in response. The room emptied quickly as Champions rushed to assume gather their equipment and form ranks, until only the former commander and a Noxian assassin remained.

"Command suits you," she teased, tugging on the blue cloth that circled his neck. "I like it when you take charge."

His blush told her he'd caught the subtle innuendo, but the Demacian only replied, "I don't know why I'm leading this group. This is too important. Any mistakes... if we don't succeed it will be my fault. Even Jarvan deferred his judgment to me-"

"You helped to bring everyone together," she interjected. "Of course they're going to look to you for guidance. You're strong and not half-bad at planning, but even more than that, they respect you." The assassin smiled, placing a hand on his cheek. "Stop doubting yourself. You're the only one that does." Garen leaned into her touch, at a loss for words.

"I want to be in the vanguard," Katarina continued, and he quickly snapped his head in the negative.

"No, you can't-"

Her eyes flashed. "I'm insulted that you would even try that crap with me. You know I'm better than any soldier, Demacian or Noxian, faster at killing than almost any other Champion, and with more experience outside the League. You're going to be running around trying to lead; you need someone to watch your back and help you figure out what's going on." She smirked, "Really, you shouldn't even be in the front rank at all."

Garen frowned, but he couldn't deny the logic in her statement. "Is there any way I can change your mind?" he finally sighed.

She stood on her toes to plant a kiss on his lips, then patted his cheek, a grin on her face. "Hell no."

* * *

Assembled at the edge of the village, it was hard not to feel apprehensive as they watched Swain's army advance toward Vessaria's, Kalamanda and its inhabitants all but forgotten. There was still no sign of Pantheon, and Garen had long since shelved his hopes that Freljord, Ionia, or Piltover would miraculously come to their aid, but it made him appreciate the army at his back all the more. It was near certain death they were walking into, so heavily outnumbered, but they stayed in their lines, eyes forward, weapons readied.

"This is it everyone," Garen shouted, pacing up and down the staggered ranks. He was never one for speeches, but he knew a few words of encouragement would help to boost morale; it certainly made him feel better. In the distance, the sounds of clashing steel could be heard now, and the sky flashed as magic flew, but the commander swallowed and raised his voice. "We're all here from different backgrounds and alliances, but we're here together. Don't forget why we're fighting! This is about more than money, city-states, or even the League. This is about saving our homes and our rights. We're here to save Valoran!"

It wasn't his best, but his ears were ringing from the cheers. Before returning to his position in the second rank, Garen turned to look over the army one last time. Most of the soldiers he'd trained and fought with in the Dauntless Vanguard had assumed the same role under Jarvan and Anders' command, taking the front lines across the front ranks almost exclusively; Shyvana claimed her Elite Guard for the second ranks and most of the League Champions fell in with her, ready to press forward when the Vanguard started to tire. Behind them, the third rank was comprised of Champions and summoners who could use magic in support of the soldiers, while the Rakkor flanked both sides along with the longer-ranged Champions and offensive mages.

Lux's light screen was working; no one so much as turned their direction. The sounds grew louder, singing steel and crackling magic and the screams of the injured and dying all masking their approach. Then Garen signaled and they began to run, hearts beating as fast as their feet; at the last moment, the screen dropped and for a split second there seemed to be a shocked silence as the front wave broke on the unsuspecting side of the combating armies.

The Vanguard tore through the first opposing line without objection, soldiers and summoners alike falling to them. Then everything turned to chaos.

It seemed strange to Garen, to watch people pass him when he was so accustomed to being at the front, but he shook his head and directed those soldiers in the rank to his right who were already forcing their way through Swain's startled rear guard. A light touch on his shoulder alerted him to Talon's presence at his side, and he gave the assassin a brief nod and said, "Go!" In a flash, the hooded Noxian melted into the ranks of Swain's army, cutting down those in the way to his destination. As Talon disappeared, Katarina followed on a mission of her own. They would try to keep Swain ignorant as long as they could by killing any couriers that might try to reach him. The Tactician was too clever for it to last long, but every second bought was another one of his men dead. From a distance he could see that Swain was in the centre of his army giving orders atop an armored destrier, but now that they were upon them, Garen couldn't make him out at all. All he could do was hope Katarina wouldn't fall into anything from which she couldn't get away.

The Demacian soldiers, Rakkor, and Champions that comprised the rank to Garen's right were already pushing through the Noxian summoners that had been taking by surprise. Without the advantage of distance, the mages were nearly helpless, and those who could see the Mount Targon residents approaching began to scatter. Even his sister helped push them forward, dashing around behind them, shielding allies with a delicate toss of her baton, and blinding enemies with a gleeful smile. But the Noxian soldiers defending toward the rear, mostly reserves or the tired or wounded, were alerted to their presence and rushed in, breaking rank in the process and leaving holes for the Vanguard to exploit. Satisfied, Garen ran back to the center.

Over the din of the field, Jarvan's commands floated through the air and the commander signaled Shyvana and the other Champions in the second rank to push forward to aid. With a fierce scream of her own, the Half-Dragon led her first line of soldiers forward to fill in the space left by the Vanguard. His heart lurched in his stomach as Garen realized how quickly they were moving forward, and that soon he would be near enough to do more than shout orders and encouragements.

To the left, the difference in discipline between Vessaria's summoners and soldiers versus Swain's was becoming clear. They were a powerful group, especially the summoners, but they weren't veterans in real warfare; when confronted by Garen's misfit army, they descended into short-lived panic. Garen knew Vessaria to be riding through her army in a chariot though he couldn't see her, but if his soldiers continued their relentless attack, she would have no choice but to call a retreat.

Through the chaos came a glimmer of red hair and Katarina slipped back into rank next to Garen, already splattered with blood and gore. "Things aren't looking good for Vessaria but Swain's gonna figure us out real s-"

A loud shriek pierced the air and the pair looked up to see Swain's raven flying overhead, then diving back to what could only be Swain's location. The results were almost instantaneous: Those soldiers in charge began shouting orders to reform and as quickly as they'd come, the gaps in the lines closed, and progress halted. Even as they pushed forward with a new line of troops, every attempt to break past was met with resistance; with a grim frown, Garen realized that the Master Tactician was called so for a reason. If it came down to a war of attrition, Swain would easily be the last one standing.

Across the field, LeBlanc watched from her perch as her army struggled to keep their ground, her perfect teeth gritted and her knuckles whitening around her staff. For every soldier that fell to a summoner's magic, another took his place and they didn't stop coming. It was bad enough being forced to war like this, when she so preferred battles of word and wit, but the worst was knowing she would soon be forced to give Swain the satisfaction of her retreat. She shot a glare at the motley group which had pressed themselves against both her and Swain; if not for _that _unanticipated turn, LeBlanc might have taken Jericho on the field.

"Vessaria."

LeBlanc did not bother to turn or mask her displeasure at the voice of the other High Summoner. "What is it, Kiersta?" Another whimpering protest about the state of affairs, no doubt.

What she did not expect was the sudden inability to breath as tendrils of magic snaked and squeezed around her throat. A choking cry fell from her lips and she tried to pivot and face her attacker only to find that she was rooted firmly in place.

"Y-you've betrayed Valoran with your f-folly, Vessaria Kolminye," Kiersta said, shakily at first then with growing confidence. "You must answer for your crimes!" Around her, the summoners and soldiers bustled past, but even LeBlanc knew nothing would look out of the ordinary with the magic suffocating her unseen.

Think, think, she couldn't think; the sounds of swords were grating in her head and the pressure behind her eyes was growing. An orb of magic shot from her staff, but it was weak and only caused Kiersta to wince. LeBlanc opened her mouth, tried to suck in air, failed. Attack – no, didn't work – need to break her concentration – such an unfamiliar feeling, fear. The Deceiver took the only course left to her.

She dispelled the illusion.

* * *

With the advantage of an overwhelming number of Champions on their side, they were gaining, albeit slowly. But if they were going to get anywhere, Garen knew they needed a push, something that would help them break the line.

He didn't even have time to rally the fighters, when the answer came suddenly in a blaze of light.

It started with a shadow, just beyond the front line of Garen's soldiers in the midst of a sea of disengaged Noxian soldiers, and cries of confusion as a razor thin beam of light materialized amongst them. The Demacian Champion looked up and comprehension dawned on him.

"SHIELD YOUR EYES!" he bellowed, echoed by those Champions with the same understanding.

It was over in seconds. The beam exploded into a fiery pillar of sunfire, followed by a thunderous _crack_ as a blurred figure collided with the ground, the force of the impact launching surrounding enemy soldiers off their feet with dust and rock and screams of fear. Blinking away the spots in his vision, Garen looked to the center to see Pantheon removing Leona from his arms with a tenderness the stark opposite of his deadly arrival. The woman shook her wild mane of red hair from her face, then drew her ornate sword and shield from her back, nodding at her Rakkor companion.

Pantheon let out a ferocious cry and their dance of steel began; the Demacian didn't even have to command his troops to push against the disoriented enemy. Everyone was renewed by the Artisan of War's entrance from the sky, and between he and Leona alone, a score of soldiers were already fallen. But after looking to the empty space at his side, Garen could only worry about where Katarina had gone.

* * *

Talon had been weaving in and out of the enemy reserves for some time, scanning intently for General DuCouteau. It wasn't until frustration was eating away at his patience that he startled at the sudden presence of a hand on his back.

"Good thing I'm not trying to kill you," the figure commented, stepping up to his side. He wore a plain black mask over his face, showing only his dark green eyes, but Talon would have known that voice anywhere.

"Vessaria will probably be retreating soon. Her forces have nothing against Swain," Marcus rushed on without waiting for his ward to speak. "Now's the time we should strike; go-"

Before he could finish, a pillar of light, fire, and thunder bore down from the sky in the middle of the Noxian troops just South of them and Talon was knocked to the ground as the world went white...

* * *

Kiersta's eyes widened in shock and suddenly LeBlanc inhaled, sharp and sweet. "Vessaria is dead, you stupid girl," she rasped. Turning on trembling legs, the Noxian raised her staff, shooting sphere after sphere of magic at the summoner. "Gone for months and months and you've played right into my hand!"

Only by instinct did the High Councilor step back as the other woman descended her chariot, meeting each blast with an outstretched palm and sending them shooting harmlessly over the heads of the army. "W-why!" she finally cried, bumping into soldier after soldier as she wound her way back. "S-someone apprehend this imposter!" the Councilor shouted. Why would no one turn to help her?

LeBlanc laughed, a throaty, terrifying sound and Kiersta whirled around to run, only to stumble against one of the Institute's summoners, who startled and looked around for the source, seeing nothing.

"They only see what I want them to see," the Deceiver declared, and this time her mark hit, exploding against Kiersta's back and sending her to her knees. "It's always been this way, long before any of you sniveling humans began to populate Valoran." Another orb flashed out and this time it was the High Councilor who was chained to the ground. "You are the most pathetic excuse for a High Councilor I've ever seen," LeBlanc sneered. "More than Ashram and Relivash before you, and all the Summoners before them."

Tears jumped unbidden to Kiersta's eyes, but they weren't born out of fear. The pale woman raised her staff and opened her mouth to speak, but as the blinding light hurtled toward the High Councilor's chest, a soldier staggered into the unseen, knocking LeBlanc aside. The magic sank into Kiersta's chest, setting her blood on fire and she screamed, but her limbs were free and she didn't waste her chance; her own magic fled her palm to crash into the Deceiver's side, igniting the skin and cloth and drawing a shriek of pain from her lips.

Kiersta closed her eyes as the magic continued to scorch her veins, and LeBlanc stumbled, then blinked out of sight. The soldier who'd broken the illusion dropped to the High Councilor's side, and she could vaguely hear him calling for a healer. Wearily, she raised her hand, beckoning him to listen.

"...Retreat."

* * *

Though he hated the stifling air of the Noxian military and the relative lack of limelight associated with war, once a battle started Draven appreciated that he could kill with abandon. It was going well until his brother's courier had informed him that his presence was no longer required on the front lines and that he would be needed at the rear guard.

Draven. In the rear guard.

He'd almost wanted to lob an axe in his brother's grim face; he could see his hulking figure even from across the field. Instead he continued on as if he'd never heard. Vessaria's soldiers were starting to run away, he wasn't just going to let them go without a taste of his glorious steel.

Then his brother had come and dragged him by the back of his vest through the ranks like a child, shouting that he would go to the rear guard or he would personally take his head.

Draven was not pleased.

It turned out, however, an army of Demacians and League Champions were attacking the rear, which made the Noxian feel much better about his situation. Determined to make the most of the battle, Draven had been working his way up through the chaos to the front lines when he saw a flash of red hair and black steel cutting through soldiers like paper dolls. A feral grin spread across his face. "Hey there, Kitty Kat," he called, "why don't you come play with Draven?"

The woman stopped abruptly and turned, unsheathing her dagger from a soldier's gut, loathing clear on her face. "Shut the fuck up, Draven."

The tattooed man laughed, then launched himself forward while throwing an axe which she calmly parried before whirling in, blade outstretched.

He blocked her strikes before lunging with one of his own, the double-headed axe snapping into place as it spun around his hand, forcing her to retreat as his reach doubled. "How's the acid healing up?" he grinned, pleased at the way her mouth tightened in anger. "Does the Demacian have to screw you with the lights off now?"

Katarina growled, and suddenly Draven lost her in the crowd of bodies. He scarcely avoided losing his kidneys as her daggers bit into the flesh on his back, and he saw the man beside him fall clutching his stomach. Before he or his allies could turn on her, she disappeared again. The Glorious Executioner could not repress the frown that animated his face; perhaps he shouldn't have picked a fight with an assassin...

Alarms were ringing in his head and he quickly dashed North past his soldiers to a more open area of the field where it would be more difficult for her to sneak around him. A knife grazed his arm right above the elbow and Katarina burst from the line, a wake of injured and dying enemies behind her.

"Well you're not as stupid as I thought," she smirked. "I thought since you were in the rear guard they were trying to get rid of you."

A stab of irritation passed through Draven. "I'm the leader of this group!" he lied hurling a spinning axe. "And I'll make sure all of you traitors are dead by the time Swain takes the Institute!" The assassin rolled and the rotating steel hit the ground before it ricocheted back into his hand.

Letting out a short laugh, she closed the gap between them, forcing the insufferable man to clumsily block her attacks with his weapons. "If you're the leader then we won't even have to try," she taunted. With a snarl, Draven snapped open both axes and heaved them at her, one opening a thin line of red across her stomach as she dodged a split-second too slow.

Frustration mounting, the executioner pressed his attack, keeping an axe in the air at all times to keep the Sinister Blade from demonstrating her namesake. Katarina dodged them all, until he unexpectedly threw both at once; she'd dodged the first not seeing the second until she realized she'd leapt directly into its path. Cursing, she crossed her blades in defense, but the impact jarred her, forcing her onto her heels. A grin sprung to his face and Draven hurled another, but salvation came to the assassin in a blinding flash of sunlight and thunder.

She'd been facing away and only saw her surroundings suddenly turn to black and white, the shadows of those left standing stretching further than she could see; but Draven only half-succeeded in raising his hand to shield his eyes. He took a few retreating steps and tried to blink away the blindness as the light receded.

The assassin did not wait; she leapt in blur of blades.

Frantically the executioner threw an axe at her silhouette, but it went wide and bounced off the dirt. He felt the first dagger cut through his side and the second follow through along the same line as the first, a perfect rotation. Draven stretched his hand toward his falling axe, turning mid-stumble with his other raised in defense-

His fingers never even came close and suddenly he was looking up at the sky.

He'd never once thought about dying, he realized, but he wouldn't have thought it would feel so cold. With a groan, he forced himself to roll and rise to his knees; Katarina's shadow fell over him as she patiently waited for him to stand.

Something akin to pity coursed through her, but she quashed the feeling immediately. "Not so tough when Darius isn't around to save you," she purred.

Soldiers were running toward him but he knew they wouldn't be fast enough. Hands shaking, Draven swung again, flicking his wrist to extend the blade, but he was too slow and the assassin swatted it away. For a moment, it seemed as though she held him in an embrace, her body warm against his chest. Then she pulled away, one dagger exiting his stomach while the other slid across his throat, letting him fall.

As the life blood pumped from his wounds, Draven thought about all the time he'd spent trying to make the crowds celebrate him. Of all those nameless, faceless people, there was only one who'd ever stood out in his mind; he wondered if Darius would notice he was gone at all.

* * *

"We saw LeBlanc!" Teemo shouted up at Garen; even the yordle scout had blood splattered across his pants and fur, an unsettling sight that contrasted sharply with his wide smile. "She's runnin' with the rest of 'em back to the Institute. Swain's followin', but leavin' a small group to distract us from the main group. Small but lotsa Champions."

Garen swore, glancing around in hopes of seeing Katarina or Talon, but neither assassin was anywhere to be found. "Teemo, go get me a summoner, Octavius if he's still..."

The scout sprinted away before he had even finished, so the Demacian turned toward Jarvan's Vanguard, who were falling back to allow Shyvana's refreshed Elite Guard take the lead. Even through the crowd of bodies, the Demacian Prince was distinct with his golden armor and crown, though it was quickly losing its sheen under dirt and blood.

"Jarvan!" Garen called. "Everyone's moving, I need you to take your group to follow while we cover you. Lux can mask your movement and take anyone else you think you need. LeBlanc is there; we can't let her get away!"

"You got it," the prince replied, shaking the blood from his lance as he signaled for his soldier's to prepare. Trusting Jarvan to organize his own, Garen went around the rear to where the summoners were healing the wounded, and the yordle summoner he'd sent for waddled up to meet him.

"You remember the Kinkou?" he asked, receiving a nod in response. "I need you to go to the Institute and alert them. Tell them LeBlanc is coming, Vessaria's retreating, and Swain is following."

If it were possible for the mousy faced summoner to look pale, he would be, but he only squeaked, "O-okay," before being engulfed in the blue light of the transportation spell.

It was all he could do. Already their numbers were dwindling; they probably wouldn't make it long enough to see the Institute fall, but they'd known that was a very real possibility when they'd agreed to defend Kalamanda. Looking out across the field, Garen finally drew his sword, and ran to join the fray.

* * *

The smell of her charred skin beneath her fingers was nauseating, but LeBlanc did not slow as she hurried down the stairs of the Institute of War to the basement. She passed the armory and the few empty residencies, continuing down another flight stairs, tucked away in the corner but just as large as those at the entrance. At the bottom of the stairwell were two massive stone doors locked with a glowing panel. For a moment, the Deceiver hesitated, unsure if it would work, but pressed her palm against it and was rewarded with a satisfying click.

Inside looked like another wing of the residencies, except for the rattle of chains, scratching stone, and whispers of nightmares. Even LeBlanc had to suppress a shiver as she strode to the first door, huge, metal, and four times as wide as a normal one, and opened it on creaking hinges.

The scratching on the floors stopped as the monster inside paused in its pacing to consider her. "Always interesting, the Deceiver's visits," Cho'Gath rasped, his guttural voice echoing about the plain stone room which served as his chambers. It's only furnishings were several large bookshelves, their contents well-worn as a result of being held in Cho'Gath's pincer-like hands. "You smell of death today, ugly creature."

"Is that any way to speak to your savior?" she retorted.

The Void monster laughed. "You save me? You are the one who will need saving when the Void comes."

LeBlanc sighed in mock irritation. "Must we go over this every time? No one fears you or the Void... yet. What I'm giving you today is a chance to show the humans what exactly they should be afraid of."

The Voidling was silent for a moment, then he let out another gravelly chuckle as he ducked past her into the hall. "What is the creature known as LeBlanc? What is she truly?" he questioned, talons scraping along the floor.

"That's for me to know," she smiled and moved to the next door. Cho'Gath was easy, reasonable and intelligent; this one was a touch unstable. Through the metal door she called, "Do you smell it? Your brother's blood?"

The creature within howled, a sound that shook the walls. "Yesssss I smell it! It calls to me!" he snarled, his voice harsh but surprisingly clear and full of anger.

Slowly, the Deceiver palmed open the door, and Renekton writhed in the glowing white chains which bound him to the floor at the sight of her. "You are not Nasus!" he bellowed.

"Your brother waits above," she cooed. "Why don't you pay him a visit?"

As she spoke, the reptilian Champion ceased his furious movements. "Let me out," he commanded, his body tensing.

She lowered her staff and in a blinding flash of light, the chains around him cracked and crumbled. Renekton jumped to his feet, a crazed grin revealing rows of short, sharp teeth. Speaking a word in language even LeBlanc could not recognize, he held out his scaled claws and from it grew his crescent-shaped blade, ornate and beautiful despite its purpose. In a blur of green scales, he bolted.

In the next cell, a cage of light whose origins the Deceiver recognized as belonging to Luxanna Crownguard. A wave of heat washed over her when she opened the door, and Brand, who sat cross-legged within the light, offered her a smile, flames dancing on his tongue and teeth. "I heard you let the first two free," his voice crackled.

"And you too, if you would destroy the world," she smirked.

Brand cracked his knuckles, the sound a fiery crack in the quiet room. "Not for you," he promised, "but I will see that the world ends in fire."

A spell of binding ready on her lips, LeBlanc easily dispelled the light cage, but unlike Renekton, Brand slowly stretched as he rose. Then, he turned to her and simply grinned, before sauntering through the door, leaving scorch marks where he stepped. The Noxian exhaled, as the room cooled.

Only two locked doors remained, but LeBlanc was not fool enough to bargain with their inhabitants. At the end of the hall was a door roped off and dusty; no noise came from behind it but she knew inside the Harbinger waited. From the other came faint whispers, incoherent but sinister, a pitch-black darkness seemingly sucking away the light through the crack under the door. She shuddered, raised her staff and focused the most powerful destructive spell at the two doors. Without waiting to see if they'd opened, LeBlanc distorted space around her until she was safely back in the Institute's main hall.

She had only made it around the corner when she heard a small _tap;_ the Deceiver looked down in time to see a tiny pellet roll against her feet before it exploded into smoke.


	18. Interrupt

Thanks for your patience! Hopefully there's only 1-2 more chapters left!

Write all the ulti's!

I imagine Nasus and Renekton's relationship to be a lot like the Master and the 10th Doctor's. Wagh!

* * *

_Interrupt_

* * *

"What news do you have from Zaun?" Swain demanded from the summoner who served as his courier between Noxus and its ally city.

The summoner twitched nervously arranging his dusty, tattered robes. "Zaun, ah... Zaun was caught in the Ironspike mountain pass..."

The Tactician's brow furrowed and he queried, "By whom?"

His voice barely audible over the sound of war, the summoner murmured, "Piltover."

* * *

"Nice shooting, Cait!" Vi grinned, smashing her gauntlet into what remained of Dr. Mundo's face. The brutal Enforcer was covered in bruises and cuts, but not all the blood spattered across her body was her's.

The serious Sheriff of Piltover merely sighed. "I can't believe I took the shot," she muttered, walking over to give the Madman's corpse a soft kick. "If I missed, that would have been you lying there."

"As if you were capable of missing a shot," the taller of the two women muttered, flipping her shock of pink hair from her face. "C'mon, let's go see if the pretty-boy needs our help."

The two Piltover officers jogged through the ranks of Piltover's soldiers as they finished arresting those Zaunites who surrendered and killing those who resisted. As they neared the blonde young man whom they sought, they overheard him complain, "Fucking fur everywhere..."

"I thought you liked getting dirty, Ezreal," Vi laughed, clapping the Explorer on the back and causing him to jump.

The young man scowled and pushed his blood-spattered goggles onto the top of his mop of hair. "Dirty is fine, but this-" he held up his arm which had a series of jagged cuts on it as though from claws- "this is totally different. Who knows what kinda diseases that flea-bag had!"

The three looked down at the dead humanoid wolf known as Warwick at the Explorer's feet. Caitlyn let out a sniff of disgust. "Hmph. You'd better see a healer. Where's Jayce?"

"He's dealing with Viktor," Ezreal shrugged, pointing to an area behind an outcropping of rock. As he spoke, the broad-shouldered brunette man came around the corner, pushing a bound and disheveled scientist, who was more machine than man, in front of him. Jayce prodded at Viktor with the head of his hammer, sparking the blue, electrical bindings surrounding him; a broken, mechanical arm hung by a few wires down the Machine Herald's back.

"I surrendered," he ground out, his accented voice thick with pain. "But the revolution-"

"Shut it," Jayce demanded wearily, prodding him again. The bound scientist fell silent. "He's been going on about the 'glorious revolution' incessantly."

Shaking her head, Caitlyn stated, "Well he surrendered. Let's bring him back with the others." The sheriff was glad the battle was finally finished; they'd been outnumbered, but with the surprise attack in the pass and Zaun's lack of discipline, it had only been a matter of time before they'd routed them. "What about Singed?"

Jayce winced. "We last saw him running off into the Ironspike Mountains. We couldn't catch him."

The Sheriff swept her hat from her head and wiped the sweat from her forehead before carefully arranging it back into place. "I see. Let's hope that this was enough. It's all up the rest of them now."

* * *

All around her, smoke blurred her vision and LeBlanc blindly ran toward what she hoped was the entrance. The blade was so sharp she only felt a slight sting in her thighs, but from the corner of her grey eyes the Noxian could see the blood trickling freely across her skin. Pausing would mean death; she kept running.

With nary a stumble the Deceiver burst from the smoke screen and the first sight in her unclouded vision was a flash of lightning crackling across a shuriken. Instinctively, she jerked her had and the steel grazed her cheek.

"Aw, I can't believe it missed!" a child-like voice chimed, a purple-clad yordle barely taller than her knees. "She's fast, Shen!"

LeBlanc released her grip on her wounded side and forced herself to stand tall. "The Kinkou Order. What a pleasant surprise."

The natural lighting filtering in from the entrance was casting strange shadows about the hall, and Shen seemed to materialize from them as he stepped from behind a pillar. "Your assistance to Vessaria Kolminye has disrupted the Balance."

"The Balance must be preserved," Kennan intoned.

At her back LeBlanc could feel the presence of the third emerging from the dissipating smoke, silent with a palpable yet dispassionate killing intent. A haughty laugh burst from the Noxian's lips as she calculated an escape route.

"You still don't know, do you?" she smirked, taking a few casual steps to the side; the three ninja tensed. "Vessaria Kolminye has been dead for a very long time." Her image seemed to flicker then, taking on the late High Councilor's before reverting back to her own. "So look no further!"

Without a moment of hesitation, the ninja launched into movement; then the hall went dark.

"Darknessssss, heh heh heh..."

* * *

Their lines had been pushed to the limits, broken momentarily in one instance, and Garen was beginning to despair about the tide ever turning in their favor again when a rousing shout went up from the other side of the small group of enemy soldiers. A quick strike disemboweled the man in front of him and the Demacian pushed forward to see Talon flanked by a masked figure that could only be Marcus DuCouteau. Behind them, the Noxian's pledged to serve the DuCouteau house were making quick work of the surprised group Swain had left in the wake of his army. The Demacian couldn't suppress a victorious grin. All that would be left was to rejoin Jarvan at Swain's main force.

As the two groups of unlikely allies merged to finish off the remaining soldiers, another scream rose from the inner ranks, feminine and furious. Surrounded by the Noxian traitors stood a woman, black magic shooting desperately from her palms as she tried to keep the soldiers at bay. "KAYLE!" she howled. "I KNOW YOU'RE OUT THERE KAYLE!"

The angelic woman was already pushing her way through the lines with a uncharacteristic aggression. "Morgana," Kayle murmured as she burst into the small clearing around her fallen sister. "Always on the wrong side. End this folly now and join us!"

Morgana clenched her fists, magic still swirling around them. Beneath her feet the ground seemed to decay with each step she took toward the Judicator. "The self-righteous tyrant says _I'm _on the wrong side?" she scoffed, causing the soldiers around her to tense.

Garen pulled up beside Kayle, sword drawn, but the immortal simply held out a hand. "Continue on with the mission. I shall deal with my wayward sister," she declared; the flames around her sword appeared to flare at the prospect.

"Can I deal with her?" Jax piped up from somewhere behind them. Kayle didn't turn.

The Demacian gave a short nod to the armored woman, then motioned for his army to continue past the warring sisters, ordering, "Regroup with Jarvan's forces!" His command was repeated back across the lines and from the Noxian forces he heard Talon shout the same. As they moved past the fallen bodies of enemy soldiers, he gave one last look to the immortal sisters who still seemed to be arguing, and followed behind his troops at a brisk walk.

A moment later he saw Talon approaching and commended, "Nice push."

"What, and no thanks for me?" Garen had to repress a jump as Marcus's familiar baritone voice chimed in from behind him. "I did organize this whole thing."

"I-I, of course, sir..."

General DuCouteau barked out a laugh as he removed his mask to wipe the sweat from his face. "Where are my daughters?" he asked.

"Cass is at the back with the summoners," Talon quickly informed, then looked at Garen for confirmation.

Mumbling, the Demacian stated, "Yes. And... Katarina, I think she's with the other force."

A flash of something akin to fear alighted briefly on Marcus's lined face, but the older man smoothed it over with a shrug. "Probably. Headstrong girl. How long until we reach Swain's main group?"

"Sir, at this pace we'll be at the Institute in twenty minutes," Garen briefed. "Jarvan's force will reach Swain about ten minutes before we do."

The General grunted, "Twenty minutes then? Let's try to make better time than that." With that suggestion, the man slipped the mask back over his face and said, "I'm going to go check on my daughter."

Garen gave a steely nod at the General's departure and shouted the order to pick up the pace. With Katarina in Jarvan's group, he was inclined to agree with her father.

* * *

Cassiopeia squared her bare shoulders, giving the soldier advancing on her a defiant tilt of her chin. A small group of Noxian swordsmen had broken through the line thinking to make quick work of the mages, only to meet very abrupt demises. One soldier was being particularly troublesome in refusing to die, but the serpentine woman could see Ryze sneaking in behind him to help and continued to wait, baiting the soldier with her apparent weakness. Sure enough, the tattooed mage glanced down at his book then directed his open palm toward the soldier, snaring him in a magical cage, allowing Cassiopeia to spring forward and jab her poisoned claws through his eyes. The man screamed in anguish, clawing at the bleeding sockets of his skull until the venom finished eating through the organs housed there.

"Pleasant," Ryze joked, unphased.

She flashed him a modest smile, shrugging her delicate shoulder. "It's what I do."

The Rouge Mage grinned, a rare sight, and opened his mouth to say something when the blood pooling around the bodies began to move, darting toward Ryze's boots. The puddle congealed into a man's form and Vladimir waved his hand chuckling, "Someone is leaking," and the tattooed mage fell to his knees gasping as previously clotted wounds opened and blood began to trickle from his nose, ears, mouth.

"No!" Cassiopeia shrieked, letting a spray of venom leave her mouth. Hot and acidic, it splashed against the blood mage's face, earning a howl of pain. Ryze fell to his stomach as the Crimson Reaper's concentration broke.

"Little Cassy DuCouteau," he hissed, wiping his face on his excessively showy jacket; the skin of his face was raw and shiny like a healed burn, only saved by the regenerative properties he'd soaked from Ryze's blood. "I think you're a little tart to be my type, but you'll have to do."

The muscles of her tail were coiled tightly beneath her and the DuCouteau woman wasted no time in launching herself at the blood mage, sinking her clawed hands into his neck. He roared as she injected her venom into his bloodstream and swung wildly at her bare stomach with the blade-like tips covering his fingers, causing her to shrink away. She coughed, feeling the blood inside her slow as he tried to manipulate it.

Vladimir leapt, drawing his own blood into sharpened blades and hurled them at her; summoning all the magic she'd been cursed with, Cassiopeia screamed, triggering the poisons trapped inside the enemy mage's body.

The effect was instantaneous; he was frozen.

In a flurry of black steel, Marcus DuCouteau flashed to her side, sending one finely sharpened dagger through Vladimir's neck and the other through his stomach so quickly and so many times she couldn't keep count. By the time the effects of the venom had begun to wane, Vladimir could only sputter a curse before his own lifeblood bubbled from his throat and gut in a tide even he couldn't control.

The Reaper fell and Marcus ripped the mask from his face, the worry etched into its many lines and clasped his daughter tightly. "Cass! Are you ok? You're hurt!"

Too relieved to remember her anger, she clung to her father squeaking, "I-I'm ok! It's nothing!"

Just as the words were leaving her mouth, the youngest DuCouteau felt an agonizing pang in her side. A wave of dizziness washed over her and she pulled away from her father and saw that the skin of her torso was turning purple as the blood under the skin began to spread, a final gift from the Crimson Reaper. Marcus caught her as she fell, laying her gently onto the ground.

She could hear him screaming for a healer and saw that he too had coughed up blood which was trickling into his beard. She raised a trembling hand and cried, "D-dad..."

His green eyes were watery and he squeezed her hand. "I'm here, baby. Daddy's here."

"It... hurts," she choked.

Marcus shook his head, and screamed again for a healer. Footsteps were thudding toward them now. "It'll be OK, Cass," he whispered, voice cracking.

She felt more hands on her now, the tingle of magic and the sound of music, but she still felt so _cold_... Heard the words "too much pressure," "surgery," and "shock." More music.

She opened her eyes (when had she closed them?) and her father's face swam into view. Was it her father? He was crying now, tears streaming down his face. Marcus never cried.

"I'm... sorry... Don't... cry..."

Marcus nodded but the saltwater tears continued to drip from his chin. A hand pressed against her other wrist, feeling for a heartbeat that was barely there; the music wasn't strong enough.

She cracked a bloody smile. "I'm... not mad... at you."

"I know," the old assassin croaked. "Open your eyes, Cass, I need you to open your eyes, OK?"

Her eyes open for a second before gently fluttering shut.

"Cass c'mon, open your eyes," he pleaded. She didn't respond. "Open your eyes, Cass!"

Her face was tranquil, the picture of beauty.

"OPEN YOUR EYES!"

For some death was lonely; for others it was an embrace.

* * *

Jarvan twisted his lance, jabbing it through the Noxian in front of him, in, then out, blood hot and slick coating its surface. Beside him, Katarina danced and her enemies fell. The Prince shuddered, amazed that Garen could be her equal. With as many Champions in their rank as there were and many of them beastly creatures, Swain's troops were dying faster than the golden man could count; surprising them with another rear attack helped. He made a mental note to promote everyone who survived this when he came into his kingdom.

Overhead, a raven circled and screeched, then disappeared into the chaotic throng, sending Jarvan's heart leaping into his throat. The bird had landed nearby, and Swain was never far from it...No sooner had the thought occurred to him, the enemies before him began to part and reform like the sea as the hobbling Grand General of Noxus made his way to meet the crown prince of Demacia.

With a cry of rage and an outstretched lance, Jarvan wasted no time in lunging at the armored Tactician, colliding instead with Swain's soldiers sworn to protect him. He batted them away easily, with eyes only for his nemesis who was calmly stepping back from his strikes. Dimly he could hear Katarina shouting for him to stop, but the blood was in his ears. He'd always been rash when it came to Jericho Swain.

At Katarina's lead, his loyal troops tried to follow behind him, but as soon as he chased, the enemy formed around him, slowing his ally's approach. Jarvan charged again, this time too fast for the General to back away; what little magic that flowed through the Demacian's veins flared out with such force that as he landed, the ground splintered around them, all but forming a wall of debris separating the two rivals from the world.

"You and me, Swain," the prince snarled, his lance reaching for the Noxian's throat in a blur.

A casual swat of Swain's staff blocked the incoming blow, arcane runes sparking at the contact. "As you wish," he smirked and the ground around the Demacian began to glow with ancient symbols. Bird-like claws seemed to shoot from the dirt and dig into the prince's ankles, anchoring him to the ground.

Gritting his teeth through the pain, the golden man raised his weapon to strike; the Grand General inclined his staff, a spell forming at its tip.

And as the wall of rock fell away behind the prince, Darius readied his axe and leapt.

* * *

LeBlanc stumbled and leaned against the slick marble wall of the Institute. She hadn't run from the Kinkou unscathed: the wounds across her thighs had begun to slow, but fresh ones lined her abdomen and her cloak was singed from lightning. If Nocturne hadn't come along and decided to repay her... she shuddered to think that her gloriously chaotic reign might have been brought to an untimely end.

The sounds of their fighting still rang out in the Southern hall, so the Deceiver slunk away toward the Northern entrance, determined to finally slip away undisputed from the war she'd begun. Admittedly, things hadn't gone according to plan; ideally she would have led the Institute of War to complete domination. But the city-states were still destroying each other and that was the next best thing. With everything in ruin, she would only need to wait for the fighting to finish before she claimed the spoils of a defenseless Valoran.

The Noxian's heels clicked across the floor, the only sound now that she was too far from the Kinkou. Light from outside trickled into sight, growing brighter along with her confidence as she neared her sweet escape. Blinking, LeBlanc stepped out onto the terrace-

-and was greeted by a battalion of Freljordian and Ionian soldiers marching around the Institute of War.

* * *

"Everyone, double time!"

There was no pretense of stealth in their charge over the final stretch. Garen had hoped Jarvan would pull back when he saw them coming and allow them to fill the gap, but the commander couldn't even see the glint of the prince's golden armor. Cries for Demacia, Mount Targon, Bandle City, and more went up as they stormed in behind their allies.

Near him, Shyvana grabbed the nearest soldier as she bolted in and roared, "Where is Jarvan?" The Demacian only pointed a shaky finger toward the enemy front line before she pushed him aside and disappeared into the fray.

Garen cursed inwardly but followed behind the half-dragon woman, Justice in hand. The dead of both sides were piling up, reserves doing what the could to pull the bodies out of the way, but still they had to side-step the corpses of fallen Champions and Dauntless Vanguard soldiers; the commander found that he was afraid to look at their faces. They passed Sona, whose fingers were frantically plucking at the Etwahl's magical strings to heal as many as she could, but tears were streaming down her face and he saw that Fiora lay unmoving at her feet.

And suddenly like a beacon, Katarina's red hair as she twisted her dagger through the space between an enemy's soldier's helmet and chest plate. "Everyone, PUSH! JARVAN, STOP!" she screamed, her voice hoarse. Relief crashed over Garen in a wave as he joined her in the push. A resounding _boom_ filled the air and a cloud of dirt and rock went up within the Noxian troops.

Shyvana's eyes widened as understanding hit her. "JARVAN!" Her howl tore through the air and her figure seemed to crack and expand, the bones of her arms splintering then reforming into jointed wings as she ran. Fire sparked from her clawed feet and she _grew_, screaming in pain as she towered, eight, ten, then twelve feet above the rest. Humans scattered from her like ants but her eyes were on one alone; she bent her knees and leapt, fire spreading with her winged arms.

The light shifted, and Jarvan could see Darius in the reflection of Swain's breastplate now, and he was humbly aware of his mistake. The axe, he knew, would be so impeccably sharp he likely wouldn't feel it until it was coming out the other side of him; the prince of Demacia steeled himself anyway.

Darius's swung.

Shyvana's jaws snapped and the air rushed from the Hand of Noxus's lungs as a half ton of wyvern barreled into his side. A strangled grunt of frustration vented from his lips, and he tightened his grip around his axe as the two went tumbling through the ranks, knocking aside all in their path.

The magical talons holding Jarvan in place retreated into the ground; with a cry of his own, the prince jabbed his lance into Swain's arm, knocking the glowing staff from his hand. Cawing furiously, Beatrice erupted from the Grand General's shoulder in a flurry of black and blue feathers, forcing the golden man back from the injured mage as she clawed furiously at his face. Jarvan tried to chase, but Swain's limp seemed to disappear altogether although he cradled his arm against his chest. With a last angry thrust at the raven which gave a taunting screech as it dodged, the prince reluctantly turned to find the woman he loved.

Darius's axe was sharp, but against Shyvana's hardened skin it caused little more than scratches. Around them, the ranks of both sides were splitting as they avoided being crushed underfoot or catching an errant swing of the Noxian commander's axe. Cautiously, the Hand of Noxus slowed his attacks against the half-dragon, focusing his energies on dodging her rapidly flying claws and fire. An angry roar burst from her maw and Shyvana whipped around too quickly for him to move; her claws sank into his armor like it was paper, pricking the flesh underneath and flinging him onto his back.

Fire dripped from her jaws as she leaned in to sever his head, but where a lesser man would have submitted, Darius twisted his arm across his body and sent his axe sliding across her face. Shyvana let out a scream that left both sides cringing as she released the man, taking a few faltering steps back and shrinking with every step. Grunting in pain, the Noxian commander staggered to his feet.

Human again, the Half-Dragon moved her hands from her face revealing an open gash that stretched from the right side of her jaw, across her lips to her cheek. "You bastard," she hissed, raising her armored fists to defend.

"Shyvana!" The Elite Guard commander stopped in surprise as Jarvan burst through the line. Darius was faster.

The axe spun in a wide arc as its wielder pivoted on heel with the weapon extended as far as he could reach, its razor-sharp edge a blur. Neither Demacian could comprehend what had happened until a line of red blossomed from the unprotected skin of Shyvana's stomach and began to expand. Her knees shook and met the ground.

A guttural cry issued from Jarvan's throat as he closed the distance to where Shyvana lay, grasping at the wound. "Shyvana, no..." he croaked. Cutting into the clearing, the rest of the army moved to surround the pair and for a brief moment, the fighting ebbed.

"Take her to a healer," Riven commanded. The exiled Noxian was covered in dirt, sweat, and blood but she still hefted her sword with ease. "We will continue the fight."

Jarvan's eyes flashed and he opened his mouth to argue, but Garen cut in, "Do it now. That's an order!" The commander's voice was strong but his face was pale under the grime of the battlefield; he inched closer to the red-headed assassin at his side, who was looking on with something like pity in her green eyes.

Sheathing his lance across his back, the prince carefully maneuvered the unresponsive Half-Dragon into his arms. One hate-filled glare was all he spared Darius before he dashed as quickly as he could from the front line.

The Hand of Noxus spat at Jarvan's retreating back. "The weak deserve to die."

A piercing shout left Riven's mouth as she jolted toward the commander, her black-stone sword faintly glowing, and again the soldiers flowed into combat.

As fighting resumed, a roar erupted from the Institute of War and a small group of Noxians and summoners closest to the steps exploded into the air, impaled on ruptured rock and marble. Cho'Gath scuttled down the stairs with an uncanny agility, chasing those disoriented by the debris; behind him a flood of fire poured from the entrance, crackling and forming into a man's shape. Finally, a flash of green scales barreled past them both, pausing momentarily at the bottom of the stairs to sniff the air. His eyes crazed and mouth frothing, Renekton turned his head toward the source of his brother's scent and shot into the fray, ignoring all attempts at engagement.

With the initial shock wearing away, a Noxian soldier rushed toward the Void monster, spear at the ready, but Cho'Gath simply reached out a pincer-like claw and snapped it through the man's chest. There was a sharp _crack _as rows of yellow teeth snapped through bones and noisily slurped down the man's flesh. The Terror of the Void raised his dripping maw in a bloody grin, and all hell broke loose.

* * *

Most eagerly moved aside from the raging reptilian as he trampled through the ranks of humans; his murderous intent blinded him to everything except the scent of his brother, which was growing stronger and stronger. After months of imprisonment with that wretched _scent_ taunting him from above, he was finally free...

"Renekton."

The Butcher ground to a halt, tongue lolling from his jaws as Nasus calmly stepped into his vision. Always quiet, he was always so damn _serene_; it was _infuriating. _"I told you brother," he snarled, "you cannot escape from me!"

The touch of grief in Nasus' tone was lost on his frenzied brother as he pleaded, "Please, Renekton. Do not do this..."

So. Fucking. _Peaceful. _

Nasus didn't deserve _peace. _Not when _he'd_ been languishing in shackles after centuries of doing Nasus' dirty work...

Renekton let out a violent howl and shot from where he was standing, his curved blade extended. Failing to move in time, the blunted edges of Nasus' staff met with steel, chipping the wood and metal near its head. As he twisted it to strike, his brother dug a clawed foot into the dirt and reversed direction, this time the blade cutting through the fur and muscle of the Curator's back.

"Nasus!" Zilean had drifted back toward the canine-Champion after hearing Renekton's howling. The chronomage's hands began to glow as he willed time to bend for his friend, but before Nasus could object, the Butcher turned angrily toward Zilean.

The Curator of the Sands panicked as his brother dashed toward the old Champion and Zilean's eyes widened in surprise. Directing time around his foe, the chronomage flicked his wrist and suddenly instead of running, Renekton was barely moving at a crawling pace.

"Thank you, Zilean," Nasus breathed in relief. "But this battle I must fight alone." The Chronokeeper's eyes slid out of focus and a pained look passed across his face; he opened his mouth as if to object, but, when he blinked and saw the resolve on the canine's face, merely nodded in response. As he drifted back to aid the others, he saw Nasus close his eyes.

Nasus reached out across time and space, begging the Sands of his home world to give him strength. Around him, the wind began to rise and the ally soldiers near him edged away in wonder. With a quiet growl and clenched fists, the muscles across him began to ripple and grow, his fur taking on a silvery sheen as the magic flowed through him. The wind and sand stormed until he stood three feet taller than before, towering over the rest of the field.

As Renekton shook off the last effects of Zilean's time magic, he began to laugh. "You think you're the only one with power, Nasus?" he snarled. Dark energy began to swirl around him as he tapped into the fury which was constantly whispering inside his mind. His scales darkened until they were as black as the hate which filled him, his body growing until he matched his brother in size. "Nothing will stop me from killing you!"

The brothers charged.

* * *

Even after spending the last few days traveling from the Northern-most reaches of Valoran, Ashe looked as composed as the day she departed, her face set in determination. Beside her Irelia matched her in poise despite being a half-head shorter, though her features were schooled into neutrality, giving an almost apathetic air to young Captain of the Ionian Guard. The only betrayal of the Ionian's excitement was her continuously twitching fingers, and the floating blades beside her which responded with a bob at her every move.

At the two women's backs, nearly five hundred Freljordian warriors comprised of archers, cavalry, and Barbarian fighters marched noisily alongside a hundred quiet Ionian soldiers of Irelia's choosing. Among them, Yi the master of Wuju style paced anxiously, a quiet hate burning bright in his chest. Overhead, the Cryophoenix Anivia soared with crystals of ice forming in her wake; thundering alongside the humans, fifty armored bears of the Ursine tribes led by Volibear, each a half ton of muscle and claw.

The sound of fighting could be heard from miles away, but as they neared the Institute of War it became almost deafening. Ashe pulled her crystalline bow from her back, an instrument every bit as magical as its wielder: it had never needed new string nor had it ever required repair despite appearing as fragile as ice. Bracing it with natural ease, the Frost Archer found her angle and paused, taking a breath. As she drew the bowstring, an arrow white as snow with a head like a bird's materialized between her fingers and she released it to arc over the tops of the Institute's spires. The arrow sprung to life as it flew, an icy hawk that granted the queen sight where she had none. As quickly as it came into being it disappeared in a flurry of snow. "Swiftly now, everyone!" she shouted seeing the need of their allies.

Likewise, Irelia called, "Ionians! Forward!" She was young, barely twenty-four, but her soldiers did not hesitate in the slightest at her command, keeping pace with Freljord.

Around the walls of the Institute they came screaming for their city-states, for those lost, for Valoran, for vengeance.

Side by side, Garen and Katarina cut through the scattering Noxian troops, doing their best to make sure none made it past their weakening line. The sun had begun its last stretch toward the horizon, and fatigue was taking its toll. Now with Cho'Gath and Brand free, everyone was in danger.

"Do not engage alone!" Garen shouted to the remaining soldiers and Champions. The Void monster didn't seem to be picking sides, attacking whomever it deemed close enough to kill, and no one seemed to be able to find a weakness. Swain's army was closer to the Institute though, now wedged between the menacing Champions and the rest of Valoran with no way to defend themselves.

Knowing they had a fighting chance should have been enough for Garen to feel relieved, but seeing Shyvana left a sick feeling of dread in his gut. What if Katarina...

"Gareeeen!" The man in question jerked his head in surprise at the squeaky voice that was calling his name; a moment later Teemo burst from the line, a soldier with a dart embedded in his neck hot on his heels. Quickly the commander dashed the short distance and intercepted, throwing his shoulder into the man's chest and knocking him to the ground. The soldier started to rise, but suddenly collapsed in a fit of convulsions, his face purpling and mouth frothing as he asphyxiated on the yordle's ajunta poison.

Panting, the Swift Scout wasted no time in shouting, "Reinforcements... Freljord and Ionia! Coming 'round... the Institute!"

He could have cried from relief then. They could win now, she'd be safe...

Before he could relay the news, the assassin rushed past him shouting, "Riven!"

* * *

Each strike against the former Noxian poster child increased Darius's respect for the woman's strength. "You of all people should know that the weak have no place in this world," he stated as he twisted his axe to catch and hold her sword in place.

Riven scowled, pulling her blade away and resuming her attack. "The strong have the capability to rise. That does not mean the strong should bully the weak."

"And you call yourself a Noxian," he scoffed. "The world should submit the power of the strong!"

For an instant, the woman's face darkened and it seemed as though the runes etched into her blade flared; green and brilliant, they traced along the former edge of the blade giving it the illusion of being whole. "You are beyond redemption, Darius," she intoned, "and I am finished with words." Faster than he could blink, the woman leapt swinging.

He blocked the first strike but was forced onto his heels; the second and third expertly exploited the rifts in his armor that remained from Shyvana's claws, adding to the wounds. There was a split second pause as the pain and aches from cuts and bruises swelled back into his thoughts, reminding him of his age. Before Riven readied another strike, Katarina darted from the fray with daggers ready, seeming to appear behind him.

It should have been a clean, killing blow, but a lifetime of fighting wars made their senior foe too perceptive; he lurched and swung, throwing himself into a roll but forcing the red-head to tumble away to avoid his axe.

"Well," she smirked, twirling her daggers expectantly as she rose, "you're putting up a better fight than your worthless brother."

For the first time since the battle began, Darius's face twisted from its usually impassive demeanor and an expression of hate, disgust, and guilt swept across his features, a livid red hue creeping up his neck. So many years spent trying to protect his younger brother... But the Hand of Noxus spared them no words; a cry for blood on his lips, he dashed toward Riven only a few feet away.

Darius closed the gap between them with the swing of his axe and Riven raised her broken sword to block the strike. The force alone sent ripples of pain through her arm, and the woman reinforced the flat of her blade with her other hand in a desperate attempt to shove the man away. The body of the axe met with black-stone, but a twist of his arms sent the hooked beard of the weapon through her supporting forearm.

Riven shrieked as the axe lodged itself in her bones, her sword arm wavering as a wave of agony shot through her. Then Darius stepped back and snapped the axe with him, just hard enough to bring the woman stumbling back with it, but not so hard that the steel loosened its hold. As she neared, the Exile made a desperate jab at the flesh of his stomach exposed by the torn metal armor. For one hopeful moment it seemed as though the sword would hit. But Darius stepped aside, ripping his weapon from her arm as he turned and sending her staggering.

Seeing Darius's quick turnaround, Katarina bolted back in, spinning in with her full weight behind the strike aimed at his neck, but the Hand of Noxus took advantage of Riven's stumble and shoved her into the assassin before she reached him.

As he moved in to kill, a wave of fire shot past the fighting trio, narrowly missing them before colliding with the face of a nearby Demacian soldier. Cackling all the while, Brand had slowly worked his way through the ranks, indiscriminately burning anyone in the way of his freedom. And Darius realized finally as he looked away from his battle, that all around him, soldiers were running.

"Give it up, Darius," a male voice called out. He turned to see Garen pacing to him, wiping the remains of the Noxian front line off his sword. "It's over. We have reinforcements. You're outnumbered."

The enemy commander let out a gruff laugh. "Over? I still stand and the General lives! You are nothing!" He leveled a hard stare at the Demacian, whose blue eyes flicked to where Katarina was pushing Riven to flee; the axeman couldn't help but laugh again at the gesture, a dizzying surge of adrenaline accompanying. He would kill them all, take Garen's head and permanently wipe the smirk off that red-headed bitch's face. For Noxus.

For Draven.

Axe readied, he charged toward Garen, roaring, "BLOOD FOR NOXUS!"

Their weapons clashed, steel on steel. Even for having such an unwieldy weapon, Darius was fast and Garen found that the axe's curve gave his enemy added momentum between blows as it slid off the flat plane of his sword. Within seconds, the Noxian was pressing him onto his heels and abruptly he swung the axe's handle, clipping Garen in the jaw and dislocating it with the counterweight.

Garen staggered back clutching his face but Katarina sprung in to intercept the downward strike Darius had aimed at his neck. A dagger slid into the unarmored crook of his arm then out as she bounded from reach; his strike wavered, leaving a solid crack in Garen's pauldron as it fell astray and glanced the armor. The Demacian could feel the bruise forming instantly and a tingling numbness in his fingers; with a grunt of pain, he quickly shoved his fingers into his mouth and did his best to press his jaw back into place. Tightening his grip on Justice, he swung again.

Around them, Katarina prowled, searching for an opening that wouldn't kill them both and finding it when Garen locked his blade in Darius's axe, an impasse where both men struggled for dominance. She darted, reaching again for the man's neck.

The Hand of Noxus wrenched both their weapons downward and threw an elbow into the assassin's chest, sending her crumpling to the dirt and sustaining only a scratch himself. Garen roared and jabbed his empty fist into the taller man's face, his nose crunching beneath his knuckles. Darius stumbled, his hand flying up to touch the blood now streaming down his lips

Garen flicked his eyes to Katarina, desperately willing her to get up, but he couldn't ponder it long before the Noxian axeman was swinging again.

"I'm going to kill you," Darius sputtered through gritted teeth. "Then I'm going to kill your woman if she isn't dead already." To the Hand of Noxus, it wasn't a taunt; it was a fact.

Something inside Garen snapped.

With a roar, the Demacian brought his sword down in a two-handed swing. It clashed against his foe's throat guard before he could raise his axe to block and sliced through the metal with a crack. Garen pulled his sword through, severing the piece of armor front and back; a line of blood formed against Darius's neck and chest and began to flow. But when he looked to the assassin, he found that she'd begun her dance.

The Hand of Noxus raised his axe to block the first slew of knives- they hit with a _clang_ and bounced aside- but they were coming too fast to stop them all. One found his arm, then another, and one found the tender muscles in his neck; he let out a roar as it sliced through the tendons and, with an uncharacteristic madness, turned his back to charge the red-head, leaping with his axe held high for an execution.

Garen ran after him but he could see he wouldn't make it in time; Katarina slowed to a graceful stop, eyes widening as she beheld Darius's charge.

Taking a deep breath to calm his panicked heart, Garen hefted his sword like a spear, took a few running steps, and let it fly.

Justice shot straight and true, sheathing itself in Darius's back, and he stumbled into the rocky earth, sliding to a halt at Katarina's feet; hate-filled eyes stared up into hers as he swung his axe up at her, an attack she dodged easily.

Pain wracked his entire body as Garen withdrew his massive blade from the muscle, bone. The Noxian tried to twist and swing, but the wound burned like fire and his enemy batted the axe from his hands, sending it skittering a few feet away.

Darius didn't justify his enemies with last words. A baleful glare was all he granted them before Garen lifted Justice in both hands and brought it through his neck.

Katarina looked away, thin shoulders shaking, as Darius's body fell to the dirt. "Garen..."

His arms were around her in an instant, Justice abandoned on the dirt. Only for a moment were they able to take comfort before they were interrupted by an enthusiastic shout from their soldiers as they helped Freljord and Ionia in purging the field.

"We need to find out what's happening," he whispered in her ear, receiving a nod in reply. He retrieved his sword, wiping it on his breechcloth as Katarina sheathed her own weapons, and together they turned to the remnants of their army.

Luxanna was the first to see them, her crystal blue eyes searching the sea of people and beasts for her brother. The mage walked with a limp and her skin showed through her armor in places, but a bright smile lit her face as she approached. "We won! _You _won!"

The commander shook his head in denial, but to her right Olaf bellowed Garen's name and was echoed by hundreds of voices lifted in cheering. Head down and face turning red, the Demacian quickly passed through the crowd until he found Ashe.

Aside from a handful of scrapes, the Frost Archer was nearly unscathed. Tucked in the crook of her arm was an egg the size of a melon, the same icy blue as her eyes and radiating a biting cold from it's slick surface. As they neared, she afforded them a thin smile that did not reach her eyes.

"This battle would have been lost without your help, Ashe," Garen proclaimed, dipping in a short bow from the waist while Katarina gave a stiff nod of her head. "I can't thank you enough."

"It was Irelia who convinced me to join to your cause," she said wearily. "Your thanks belongs to her."

s

Taken aback, he nodded and the queen turned with a flourish of her cloak, murmuring to the egg in her arms. As the pair continued on, they passed a veritable wall of ice, ten feet tall, twice that in length and thick as it was high, which was slowly sweating in the falling May sun. Trapped inside was Brand, his skin black as obsidian and all the flames extinguished; an enchanted arrow pierced the ice into his heart, giving hints of Anivia's sacrifice and Ashe's melancholy.

All around them as they passed through the ravaged field, in a unprecedented show of camaraderie, people of all city-states were aiding one another, locating friends, healing, comforting survivors, burying the dead. Ionia, Noxus, Demacia, Freljord, and Bandle City, all had suffered losses, all were united under a single banner.

Even an armored bear and a chronomage worked side by side.

Before they could locate Irelia, however, they were intercepted by Talon, who appeared by Katarina's side without so much as a whisper of sound until he murmured, "I couldn't save her."

The couple started in surprise. Talon's eyes were red, his face muddied, clothes torn and soaked in blood, but before Katarina could clarify his meaning, Pantheon leapt over the heads of those around to land on his feet by Garen's side. A jumble of cuts in various lengths and depths crisscrossed his body, but despite them the Rakkor Champion seemed to contain as much energy as that which he entered the battle with. A few moments later, Leona pushed into the circle with an expression of exasperation written on her dirty face.

"You must come with me," the mountain of a man commanded, rising to his full height half a head taller than Garen. "There is no time and he asks for you."

The Demacian started off immediately to follow the Artisan of War up the Institute's steps, Katarina, Lux, and Talon at his back. Pantheon pointed up at the entrance before retreating back to the field, and when they came into the shadow of the entryway's pillars, slumped in the shade was the Eye of Twilight. Shen's primarily leather armor was ripped to shreds, deep jagged wounds marring his skin; blue cloth had turned to black, soaked through by blood. The mask that normally covered his to his nose was pulled down, revealing a youthful face a mouth set in a grim line.

At his side keeping him from falling over was a woman clad in white with more skin showing than was covered. She'd ripped the extraneous cloth from her skirt to bind the ninja's wounds, but the make-shift bandages were already soaked through, and her own skin and clothing was slippery from blood. Her long blonde hair seemed to flutter in the non-existent breeze which she was directing into Shen's face.

To the other side crouched his companion Akali, her face as impassive as ever but pale and sweaty. Her left arm hung limply at her side in a manner than suggested broken bones, but the woman betrayed no distress. Her eyes didn't so much as flicker from her partner's face as the others approached, the only indication of her anxiety.

"You're Garen?" Janna asked, rising to her bare feet upon their arrival. "He's been asking for you. I'm not a healer, but I did the best I could..." She bit her lip, ocean eyes brimming with tears as she looked down at her blood-stained hands. "I only heard the fighting and came out to see what was happening," she babbled, "Shen... oh gods, if it weren't for him, we'd all be dead..."

Slowly, Shen held up a hand and interjected, "The Nightmare... known as Nocturne... is free. By the woman..."

"LeBlanc?" Garen queried.

"LeBlanc... Vessaria... they are one in the same... We could not... stop her," Shen replied. "But Jericho Swain... pursued her into... the reflection chamber..." He winced, drawing in a shuddering gasp. "Go!" he rasped. "There's still time...!" The man's yellow eyes flicked to his partner and he whispered, "Akali, Kennan... I am sorry..." Silent tears began to trickle down the female ninja's face, and everyone turned away as the faintest whimper bubbled in her throat.

"You heard him," Katarina demanded as she drew her daggers. "Let's go!"

For once Garen was too angry to disagree with her haste. He drew his own sword from its scabbard and looked to Lux and Talon. His sister gave him a grin as her baton twirled around her fingertips; the assassin said nothing, but nodded his agreement.

Bracing themselves for what was to come, the four entered the Institute of War.

* * *

A/N: Hemoplague - Severe/rapid internal bleeding - Hypovolemic shock :

R.I.P. Darius, you badass motherfucker.

Garen picking up his sword and throwing it = my thoughts on his ult. I refuse to believe that a mana-less Champion can summon a magic sword from the sky.


	19. The Ties that Bind

_Hey dere! Hope the fights are gewd! Feedback appreciated as always! _

* * *

_The Ties that Bind _

* * *

"Garen has pursued LeBlanc into the Institute of War, temporarily abandoning his command," Ashe relayed quietly. "Command will fall to you and I now as the Demacian crown prince is indisposed. I believe it best if we cooperate on the matters at hand." The Freljordian queen had pushed her hood back from her face and placed Anivia's egg within it, freeing her hands but keeping her friend close. Icy patterns splayed across her cloak.

The woman to whom the Frost Archer spoke nodded solemnly, her telekinetically floating blades dipping in perfect harmony; fresh blood still dripped from the steel but Irelia was careful to keep them from spattering the icy queen. "Agreed. You'll find no resistance from Ionia for the time being," she stated. "I recommend the area be completely secured outside in order to prevent escape before attempting to reinforce those within."

Ashe considered the Captain's advice before shaking her head in the affirmative. "I trust that Garen and his allies will be able to handle her until then. Should they fail, she could never hope to fight us all. We will prepare."

A chilling smile carved its way across Irelia's face. "I hope she tries," she smirked before leaving the Freljordian at a brisk pace. She called her lieutenants to her and organized them to her liking, commanding them to work together with Freljord to cement their hold on the Institute grounds. When the last of them saluted and departed, Irelia made her way to where Akali sat being treated by a Demacian healer.

The Kinkou ninja said nothing, only shifted her gaze to her side where Shen and Kennen were stretched out beside her, fingers laced together and arms crossed over their chests. Their clothing was shredded and the blood still oozed around them in thick globules from wounds on their backs as gravity did what their silenced hearts could not.

"What happened," the Ionian Captain commanded. She'd spoken softly but the ninja still started and clenched her fists, twisting to check behind her.

"Calm down," Irelia blurted, leaping to grasp the ninja's shoulders. When Akali looked back, Irelia could see plainly an uncharacteristic glint of fear in her eyes. "What's wrong?" she whispered. "What happened?"

The ninja licked her lips and mumbled, "Nightmares... darkness and shadows... Sh-Shen, Kennen... we were trying to protect Shen... the sound... the sound of crows-"

"Akali, you're not making any sense." Irelia's heart sped up though; she'd never seen Akali be anything other than completely stoic.

"We thought there was only one, but there were two," the green-clad woman stuttered. "We had LeBlanc, and then the darkness came and it was in my head, wouldn't leave, the shadows in my head-"

"Stop-"

"It did stop! The darkness had claws but mine were sharper," she giggled. "I can cut the shadow."

Irelia remained silent as she pieced together Akali's ramblings. There was only one thing that would fit into the ninja's description, but it was supposed to be imprisoned... unless someone had broken the Nexus fragment... "I see," she muttered to herself, then to her fellow Ionian she asked, "So, it was Nocturne. What did you mean there were two?"

Again, Akali flinched as though she'd forgotten the Captain's presence but nodded and answered, "We fought the darkness, Nocturne, the three of us together. But then the crows..." She shuddered and pushed Irelia away then placed a hand on Shen's, the other on Kennen's. "It came out of the darkness, no warning just there, sticks and straw but grinning and the crows... I know he couldn't help it, I could feel the magic, but Kennen started to run and Nocturne shoved a hand through his chest right here," she whispered, patting the yordle's heart.

"Then a door opened and that woman came out. I heard her scream then there was a gust of wind and the scarecrow flew into the wall. And the shadow started for me. I was going run, let it follow, get them away from Shen, he's the Eye of Twilight, he has to live! But he jumped in and..." A choked cry came from her lips.

"You don't have to say anything else, Akali," the Captain of the Guard murmured, placing a gentle hand on her cheek. Her father's blades were reverently still at her back, for once not moving as she did. "I will see that Shen and Kennen's bodies are taken back to Ionia for the proper burial rites."

Akali nodded, but her tired eyes were looking past Irelia into the sky. For a moment she stood cupping the ninja's cheek, then Irelia let her hand fall before stalking away to her soldiers. She paused as she noticed Yi leading a small squad of fighters along the Institute's walls searching for straggling Noxians. In the years since the Noxian occupation of Southern Ionia, Yi was always frowning, his mouth set in a grim line that, along with stress, seemed to age him. But the Yi she saw now was almost youthful: he stood taller, his steps energetic, and signaling animatedly.

And he smiled.

At her side, Irelia's blades trembled as a surge of anger washed over her as the image of the shattered ninja came to mind. Inside she felt that she had traded places with the Wuju Bladesman, and wondered how long it would be until she smiled again.

* * *

Shyvana's touch had always felt like fire, so as he clutched her hand in his, Jarvan could scarcely believe the pale, cold woman lying in the make-shift cot was really her. One by one, the healers surrounding her removed their hands, shaking their heads, praying to their gods, offering condolences, while he sat staring at her bandaged face in disbelief.

As if she would, at any moment, open her eyes. Crack a smile. Start breathing- _anything. _

For a moment he too thought he would stop breathing; air hitched in his chest until it was burning and his eyes were swimming; he didn't want the relief of exhaling, didn't want to breathe when she couldn't, just let me _die_-

But it rushed out of his lungs with a strangled sob, replaced in his chest by guilt and regret. The feeling sank rock-like into his stomach, twisting it in knots until he was forced to lean over and retch, leaving a sour taste in his mouth, all the while whimpering helplessly at the agony seeping out from his bones. Worse than any wound, despair ate him from inside, leaving him wishing all the more to die. It wasn't right, wasn't fair! How could she be gone while he was left to walk his path alone? _It should have been me, it should have been me! _

Jarvan clenched her hand, kissed her cheek, pretended she only slept while ignoring the stained bandages around her stomach that literally held the pooling blood inside her body.

Everything he'd planned and done, all of it had been for her, _now what can I do when I have failed so completely_?

And like a poison in his mind, the answer drifted up.

I_sn't it your father's fault she had to fight to prove herself?_

* * *

Their approach was as rushed as they could spare while maintaining silence, and they'd only been inside the Institute for a minute when Lux whispered, "The inhibitor isn't working."

Typically the arches signaled the area where their prowess would be magically restricted, expressed by a slight tingle of magical energy that they realized now they hadn't felt. Footsteps remained silent, muscles unburdened, and magic waiting to be drawn upon at word. Along with the revelation came a sense of worry; they wouldn't be the only ones unrestrained.

The halls were empty, the building devoid of life as Garen, Katarina, Talon, and Lux passed through it in silence. It was a winding maze of halls which led to the reflection chamber, but even though they'd rarely had reason to traverse it, it was a path not easily forgotten, and as they neared, Talon suddenly grabbed Katarina's sleeve and motioned for her to stop. She gave him a concerned look but he quickly blurted out again, "We couldn't save her, Kat."

"What are you talking about?" she hissed. "It can wait until later, we need-"

"What's going on?" Garen whispered as he and Lux joined them.

Talon looked between the three pairs of inquisitive eyes waiting on him and breathed, "Cass. Vladimir killed her. He did something to her blood, Marcus and I, we couldn't..."

Katarina's face went rigid, drained of color while Garen quickly switched his gaze to her, and Lux took on an expression of pity. He placed a hand on her shoulder, felt her trembling as she raised her hand to touch his. For what he was going to say, his heart pounded with dread.

"We need to keep going," he reminded gently.

Talon flashed him a hard glare but the red-head breathed, "You're right." Schooling her expression into neutrality, she added, "I can't... Talon, we can't..."

He could have been stabbed through the chest for the look of pain that crossed his face as his adoptive sister spoke, but as she finished he too set his mouth in a stubborn line. Before he could say anything, Katarina turned abruptly along with Garen, leaving him staring into Lux's compassionate smile.

"It won't seem ok for a long time," she murmured placing her hand against his chest which shimmered softly at her touch, "but maybe you'll find a light."

Surprising even himself, the assassin closed his eyes and simply said, "Thanks."

* * *

The ceiling of the reflection chamber seemed to arch upward infinitely and a soft purple glow radiated from it, though LeBlanc couldn't discern a visible light source. Her steps echoed loudly in the stillness as she crossed the cavernous room. When a High Summoner wasn't conducting a Judgment, the reflection chamber was perfectly empty; in contrast to the rest of the Institute, the marble floor was a glossy black that reflected everything, lending a resemblance to the nighttime sky.

The Deceiver was continuing at her hurried pace toward the ornate exit door on the opposite side of the chamber when a familiar rasping voice called out, "Going so soon?"

It was enough to make her cringe, and LeBlanc rounded on the Noxian Grand General who stood at the open double doors which had parted so silently she hadn't noticed. "Jericho," she muttered, releasing her wounded side from her grasp. "What a pleasant surprise. I would love to stay and chat but I'm afraid I have business to attend to elsewhere. You understand, right?"

"It can wait," he replied, the hint of aggression creeping into his tone. As he limped closer, she could see his right arm dangling limply at his side, his staff now clutched in his non-dominant left and emitting a soft click against the floor as he walked. No helm protected his head now though his collar remained, baring only his eyes. The raven on his shoulder was quiet save for the rustling of her wings. "I have a few things I would like to discuss that simply cannot wait."

Her pearly teeth were gritted in frustration; was it too much to want a clean escape? "What do you want, Swain?"

In answer, his clenched fist flared brightly and he swung his staff, a burst of green energy erupting from the tip to blast against her chest. LeBlanc could feel the dark magic seeping into her veins like a poison, but rather than turn she snapped her fingers and her own staff fell into her outstretched fingers. In one smooth motion, she lowered it, returning an attack of her own. But as she moved to advance, tendrils of magic shot from the marble, snagging her ankles in bird like claws.

"Did you arrange the counter attack too?" he questioned, snapping another sphere of magic from his palm. She knew he wasn't trying to kill her yet; the orb burst against her cheek and burned enough that she gasped, but it was brief and left only a red mark. She could taste copper in her mouth. "Noxus is lost!"

LeBlanc wrenched free with a stumble and retaliated quickly with her own spell, leaving Swain unable to react. "No," she spat, wiping the blood from her bruised cheek with the back of her hand. "Even I knew nothing of that!"

"Forgive me, if I have difficulty believing one whose business is lying," he retorted when he found his voice; Beatrice let out a mocking caw.

She had to resist smiling at the irony: the only truth she'd told yet, one that could have reunited them against their enemies, and he wouldn't believe it."Why bother asking then? And while we're at it, why not just let me take the Institute of War?" she shouted. The crystalline particles suspended in the curved head of the staff flashed and sent another orb of magic hurtling at her former ally. "The sanctions on Noxus would have only been temporary!" Another lie, but Swain was past the point of trying to differentiate her lies from her truths.

The Grand General turned to the side and batted the sphere as it passed him, directing it into the floor. Neither were exactly trying to kill each other yet, but Swain's red eyes flashed dangerously and it seemed that his clawed gauntlets were growing longer, sharper. "Evaine..." he growled. "For you I would have..."

Would have what? She wanted to scream, but pride stilled her tongue. Their labored breathing the only sound in the black marble chamber, she dared him with her eyes to continue, but found that his gaze was at her feet. Because of blood loss, the flickering chamber light, or the magic of the room LeBlanc could not say, but for a moment it seemed as though his mask slipped and in the reflection of the floor she could see his face twisted in anguish, anger, curved in a smile. But the moment passed in silence and his eyes flicked up to regard her once again with a facade of indifference.

"I see," he said softly, taking a limping step forward. "Is there even any of Evaine left behind the illusion of LeBlanc?"

"Stop calling me that," the Deceiver warned. She raised her staff, held a spell at the tip of her tongue.

A throaty chuckle cut the stillness along with a flash of green and LeBlanc could feel the heat of the spell as it flew past her before exploding against the marble; this time, she knew, he was aiming to kill.

* * *

To be voluntarily excluded from a battle in which he suspected his friend would die was, Zilean decided, just as painful as unintentionally allowing his home's destruction. But all his subtle attempts at manipulating time to make his attacks faster or to slow his foe were met with protest until finally, Nasus had snarled and literally snapped a threat at him with slavering jaws. So Zilean had assisted others where he could while drifting back to Nasus, all the while with one eye into the future's constantly changing paths in hopes that something would change.

Nasus and Renekton though, were not nearly as mindful as Zilean. Their inhuman size and the blood-feud between them had taken the warring brothers trampling through the ranks. Soldiers chased the routed enemies, man and beast from differing backgrounds working together while brothers clashed, drifting further and further away from the Chronokeeper's watchful eye. Once the troops had cheered and begun the act of mopping up the remaining enemies, the chronomage had abandoned his supportive role to rest in order to seek out the Curator.

Zilean could see that both Nasus and Renekton grew weary though truthfully he was surprised they'd lasted as long as they had in such magically enhanced forms. The Chronokeeper felt weary after using his own magical abilities even sparingly throughout the course of the battle; he couldn't imagine having it constantly draining him. The magic from their homeworld must have been strong indeed. Still, as he assessed his own strength, he could feel just enough power remaining inside him for the spell that would save Nasus's life when the time came. For all he knew it might destroy what remained of his cognizance or kill him outright, but for the life of a friend he would infinitely replay the life and death of his home. Not for the first time did he wish he could see his own future.

Both brothers were panting heavily, swinging sluggishly at each other still despite their exhaustion. Nasus's fur was matted with blood, the dozens of shallow wounds crisscrossing his skin where his armor was broken, a gift of Renekton's cruelly curved weapon. In contrast, the Butcher had little visible damage, but Zilean knew that was how Nasus's magic worked: A few strikes of his blunted staff slowly withered the muscles, doing just as much damage internally as his brother's did externally. As far as he could see, they were evenly matched.

But Zilean's heart lurched hopefully into his throat when Renekton caught a particularly vicious blow to his head and staggered. Nasus's next strike struck his knees and suddenly they were in the same position as they had been before summoned to Valoran; Ever compassionate, the Curator placed the tip of his glowing staff at his kneeling brother's temple, looked him in the eye, and panted, "It is not too late. Stop this madness!"

A flash of fear contorted Renekton's face. "Nasus..."

The Chronokeeper saw the reptilian's claws clench around his blade; he had to warn him! "NASUS!"

It was in the moment when Nasus flinched and started to turn toward his voice that Zilean finally realized, too late, the role he had to play in his vision of his friend's death. Renekton swung and the blade slid cleanly through his brother's stomach, rending the flesh in a quick waterfall of blood that spattered his face and arms. And he began to laugh as he caught Nasus's trembling, shrinking body.

"It will never stop, brother," the Butcher said, voice somewhere between laughing and crying. "The rage and whispers. They will never stop!"

With trembling hands, Nasus brought his staff to rest against Renekton's chest. "Then sleep," he whispered, pushing what remained of his magic into his brother's heart. It was slow, but his yellow eyes drooped, then closed as his body went limp, sending both collapsing into the dirt.

"Nasus!" Zilean screamed, rushing to his friend's side and rolling him onto his back. "What have I done? I can fix this, like it never happened, I can-"

The Curator of the Sands held up a clawed hand to silence him. "No. Please, my choice... is made. Let me... die."

"Not while I can save you!" The Chronokeeper's clock began to glow, the minute hand ticking slowly counterclockwise.

"NO," Nasus coughed, this time forcing the chronomage's hands away. "You are not... a god..." He chuckled, "There are... no gods... only the cycle of.. life... and death."

Zilean couldn't help the crack in his voice as he cried, "How can I live knowing I caused this! It's too much..."

Again his hands became engulfed in light and this time Nasus snapped, "Selfish... I'm ready... Please Zilean. Just... stay until... I go."

It took a few moments, but the clock stopped ticking, his hands stopped glowing. Finally, the old man nodded, and Nasus breathed a sigh of relief as the Cycle continued.

* * *

"Damn it, Jericho," LeBlanc sneered. "We don't have to do this."

Sweat beaded on both of their foreheads, glistening green and blue in the fading light of dying spells until only the purple light of the ceiling remained. It was harder to breathe now she realized, but Swain too gasped for air, leaning heavily on his staff at their unofficial standstill.

"Maybe once but not now," he rasped. "Without your corpse and the Institute of War in my power, I cannot return to Noxus."

She smirked, flipping her messy black hair from her face. "When did you start following the rules?"

His brow furrowed. "I know you, LeBlanc, even if you would like to think I don't. If I let you go now, you will only return to pick up where you left off."

Her haughty smile faded, pulled down into a frown as she replied, "I don't think you should presume to know what I will-"

Before she could finish her statement, the faintest sound of footsteps caused both mages to whip around toward the door through which they'd come. The acoustics of the room had muted their steps until the four were already at the threshold, but the sounds of fighting from within it had guided them there. Across the walls their steps echoed, even after they stopped to appraise the two Noxian masterminds at the source of years worth of troubles.

"Swain," Katarina spat venomously. "What a pleasant surprise."

The Deceiver flashed them a disarmingly sincere smile. "Sorry, have we met?"

Garen interjected as the red-head started a nasty reply. "We know you've been behind everything since the start, LeBlanc."

"Only now your little plans have gone to shit," the assassin finished.

"Katarina DuCouteau," Swain murmured. "You, like your late father, know nothing."

Breaking his self-imposed silence, Talon stepped forward and whispered, though his voice echoed in the empty chamber, "Marcus lives. How do you think we knew what you were planning? It's you who knows nothing."

Swain and LeBlanc exchanged a look, impassive on the surface but sharing in their agreement; the General let out a short chuckle and a twisted grin worked its way back onto the Deceiver's beautiful face. "It appears we have mutual loose ends," Jericho laughed. "Together then?"

"Agreed," she smirked, and the two mages turned on the four Champions in a blaze of magic.

The group split instantly as they leapt into action dodging the slew of magical energy aimed at them. Unarmored as she was, Garen knew if they could only move in close enough to LeBlanc they might be able to cut her down quickly before she was able to retaliate. However, the Deceiver was fast and with a fully armored Swain now guarding her as she did him, it wasn't going to be particularly easy. Still, the odds were in their favor, four versus two.

Katarina and Talon were already circling around in the shadows from either side while Lux dashed opposite of Garen, trying to locate a position where she might strike both mages with one blow. With a resolute look on her face she swung her baton. While the magic expended by LeBlanc and Swain looked almost fiery in the way it churned and crackled, Lux's light magic was crisp, a perfect sphere of shimmering prismatic energy. She'd only meant to get a feel for the Deceiver's style of combat, maybe get a lucky shot while she was preoccupied with Garen, and was surprised when the mage flinched away from the sudden burst of light and turned to face her.

"So you think you can keep up with a real caster?" LeBlanc taunted. The blonde's heart jumped as, in a puff of smoke, the Noxian was now only a few feet away from her, staff swinging in delicate tinkle of crystal. At the last second Lux threw herself into a roll to dodge the orb, but she could feel the crackling energy as it passed and scorched the fabric of her sleeve.

Bringing her baton up as she rolled, the Demacian swatted aside the next attack her enemy flung at her, and looked back in time to see the shadow of an assassin as Talon leapt at the Deceiver's exposed back. Just as it appeared he would succeed, another wisp of smoke erupted at the space LeBlanc used to occupy and in the blink of an eye she had returned laughing to her original position.

"Fuck," Talon swore as he rolled to his feet.

"I can trap her," Lux said in a low voice. "Attack then." Without a second glance the assassin melted back into the shadows.

Despite his awkward gait, Swain was not nearly as feeble as he appeared but with two fighters consuming his attention, it was all he could do to keep them at bay. But as they learned repeatedly, their was no mistake in his title of Master Tactician. As he dashed toward the General, the ground below Garen's feet glowed with magical runes and though he tried to jump over the edge of the spells reach, bird-like claws manifested from the floor and wrapped around his ankles.

Even though he was trapped, the commander thought it would be distraction enough to allow Katarina to slip in with her daggers, but as she neared Swain's back, his six-eyed raven launched from his shoulder cawing. From it's beak the bird spent a startling burst of energy that struck the red-head squarely in the chest and sent her flying into the darkness.

The Grand General did not so much as gloat; he simply turned and continued his attack on Garen as he freed himself from the magical entrapment. The magic came quick but he blocked them with the flat of his blade as he made his steady approach until he heard Lux yell out in warning, "Behind you!"

Without hesitation, Garen turned swinging and caught a blast in his chest that left him stunned, his sword passing harmlessly through empty air. LeBlanc retreated, reappearing behind Swain laughing, but Lux was ready: Already the spell was traveling as she predicted the Noxian's movement and the light bent around her feet like a wire as she manifested. In the second in which the Deceiver struggled to take a step, Talon slunk from the shadows hurling a handful of star-shaped knives that snapped open to double in size as they flew in front of his advance. It wasn't deadly, but the blades stuck, two embedded in her back and the other grazing her arm, enough to make her cry out in pain and stumble as Lux was forced to release the binding magic, panting at the effort of maintaining the spell.

Swain turned, his staff striking the air and releasing a blinding trail of magic that blasted into Talon's side as he dove with his blade extended at LeBlanc's back. It was enough to send him flying off track, crashing into the marble, air exploding from his lungs with a groan while the pale-skinned mage to rose shakily to her feet.

The second of inattention allowed Katarina to strike, seeming to emerge from nothing she moved so quickly, daggers curving around her as she sank them into the General's back. Beside her, Garen swung overhead, aiming for the neck but still cutting through the light armor of Swain's chest, slicing where it reached skin, bruising where it didn't. They followed through, pressing the mage who was taking haphazard backward steps, the Demacian leading with brutish, rending blows whose paths the red-headed assassin followed expertly. They moved with such intent they didn't see the floor glowing until it was too late and both were snared.

Lux had no way of knowing where Talon was, had no way of coordinating with him as he constantly vanished into the shadows created by the ceiling, but he read her movements well. Before LeBlanc could steady herself, the blonde shot a blinding sphere of magic from her baton that flared in a radiant blur of prismatic color. The Noxian mage had no way of shielding, forced to squeeze her eyes shut as the miniature sun exploded against her skin. And while she blinked away the spots, Talon sank his blade into her chest.

She should have screamed, should have cried, but the wound didn't bleed and LeBlanc simply looked the astonished assassin in the eye and smiled. Then, she raised her fingers in a girlish wave and vanished. Faintly he heard Lux mumble, "Shit."

Garen and Katarina glanced their way, but so did Swain, who, if he was surprised, did not show it.

"Where's LeBlanc?" the Sinister Blade demanded, extending a blade toward the Grand General. Beatrice screeched, bursting from his shoulder and flew at her face talons first, but Lux aimed a shot of magic at the raven, forcing it to back away, circling overhead cawing angrily. He betrayed nothing, but continued to stare at the empty floor which the Deceiver no longer occupied.

Instead of waiting, Garen pushed past her and seized the older man's throat in one of his bear-like hands. "Where is she!" Again the raven dove in, attacking with it's beak, and this time Katarina whipped one of her few remaining knives from her belt and lobbed it at the bird. Straight and true, it lodged itself in her wing, driving it down to Swain's feet with a series of pained cries.

Swain's eyes wrinkled in mirth, his mouth twisted in a smirk beneath his collar. "She runs when she's afraid of dying," he croaked. The soldier pushed him back with a grunt, where he collapsed on the ground gasping; Talon kicked aside his staff before grinding the heel of his boot into his sternum.

"Go find her," Talon commanded, shooting a vicious smile toward the helpless General. "I think I can handle this on my own."

"Damn, I wanted to be the one to kill that bastard," Katarina grumbled, but started along with Lux and Garen to the opposite door of the reflection chamber. The light mage shot one last look at the two men, a puzzled look on her face, before she shook her head and reluctantly followed her brother.

"She left you to die," the assassin grinned. "How fucked up is that?"

Jericho laughed and closed his eyes and when they opened they burned with an inner fire. Talon jerked his blade in a motion that would have severed the arteries in the General's neck if he his hand hadn't flashed up at the last second and caught the blade. The Tactician's fingers had grown long, thick, and sharp, his skin leathery and rough, and the nails screeched against the metal as the assassin tried to wrench his weapon free.

"Not nearly as much as this will be," Swain snarled, pushing the assassin away with a sudden burst of strength. His face contorted, nose stretching to meet his mouth until they melded to form a beak; inky black feathers erupted from his skin and he swelled in size until he stood a foot taller than Talon, his robes and armor stretching, ripping, breaking under the stress. His raven flew at once to his shoulder; Katarina's knife pushed out of the wound in its wing as its skin knit back together, and Talon noticed Swain's own wounds, while not healed, were more shallow than before. Now fully formed, Swain's head mirrored that of his raven's and each of his six eyes were focused on the shocked assassin.

"Come now, Talon," the monster that was Jericho Swain crowed, taking a casual step forward. He raised a clawed hand, forming a glowing sphere in his palm. "Don't you like a challenge?"

* * *

Lux stopped in the middle of the hall, suppressing a shudder. "Something's wrong," Lux whispered and before Garen or Katarina could ask, she turned and sprinted back down the hall.

The commander started after her, about to shout her name when the assassin grabbed his arm and shook her head. He frowned, shooting a glare at the corner his sister had just rounded, but this time the red-head jerked his face toward the floor and pointed at the slick droplets of blood they'd followed. Grudgingly, he allowed her to pull him along.

He knew which way the reflection chamber had been facing, but when they'd exited Garen felt completely turned around; the halls were labyrinthine on a regular day, much more so when his senses were hyper-aroused for danger. Abruptly, Katarina flung out a hand to pause and both heard the whisper of staggering footsteps. Both took off at a run and turned the corner to find themselves in the grand foyer that would lead to the Eastern entrance of the Institute of War.

The artificial lights lining the pillared hall gave the marble a moody glow. At the distant entrance they could see the darkened sky and, barely visible in the dim light, the silhouette of the woman they chased.

* * *

Talon wiped the sweat from his eyes and swung again at the bird which was pecking at his arms. Every time he landed a blow the creature flew away back to Swain, but each time it returned the wounds were healed, and it was simply too agile to get a killing strike into its chest. The best he could do was to hide in the shadows, but even that had its limitations: It seemed the General's extra eyes provided him better sight into the dark, and after only a few seconds of looking he would blast the area with magic to force Talon out of hiding.

Gritting his teeth in frustration, the assassin darted from the shadows sending an arc of curved daggers out in front of him that sliced through the mage's feathered skin before they boomeranged back toward him. Roaring, the monster whipped around at the source of the blades and his raven circled cawing angrily, but Talon had already disappeared back into the dark. If he could just keep him guessing-

Suddenly the raven swooped down toward him cawing, making him dash to avoid its claws. And he dashed right into the circle of runes that erupted into claws that dug into his ankles.

"What have we caught now, Beatrice?" Swain rasped to his bird, who cackled in answer. "Oh, an assassin, you say?"

Talon strained against the ensnaring magic, hacked at it with his wrist-blade but the grip wouldn't loosen. His throat felt tight as he watched the General raise a glowing hand and for the first time since fighting Marcus, he knew with painful clarity that he was going to die.

Talon closed his eyes.

"GET DOWN!"

He flicked his eyes open to see a blinding rope of white magic wrapping around the monsters arms, pinning them to his side as he roared and fought the binding. Then Talon threw himself onto his stomach as the air began to distort and a split-second later a blazing prism of white-hot magic ignited the air. It engulfed the monster and he screamed as it scorched his skin with all the heat of concentrated sunbeam.

Suddenly Talon was free and he leapt to his feet at the beam fizzled away, leaving Swain gasping as his feathers continued to burn.

This time, Talon didn't waste any time with words: He thrust his blade into the General's gut, twice, three times, before finally stabbing him through his throat. Hot and slick, the blood gushed from the wounds, coating his blade, his hands, and face, but Talon was past the point of caring. The feathers moulted from the monster's skin and he shrank as he collapsed into the puddle of his own life. Talon pushed past him, ignoring the final gurgles and gasps coming from Swain's mouth.

Luxanna sat kneeling on the floor. Her face dripped with sweat from exertion, her hands trembling around her baton from the strength of the spell. As Talon approached, she looked up and gave him a weak grin. "Pretty cool, huh?" she chuckled.

In answer, he held out his hand to help her to her feet. "You came back and you saved my life," he murmured. Her dazzling smile widened as she took his hand and rose. Together they dashed away from Swain's cooling body to rejoin with Katarina and Garen.

And as they ran, Talon remembered a time when Marcus could have killed him, and instead chose to save his life, and he cast a glance at the woman by his side. Maybe one day he would find his light after all.

* * *

LeBlanc scarcely heard the whistle of the throwing knife in time to avoid it penetrating the back of her skull; instead the blade tore through the flashy collar of her cloak as she jerked away.

Katarina swore. "Give it up, LeBlanc," she shouted, a weary edge in her voice. "You're finished!"

The Black Rose matron gave her an icy stare, but her lips were parted as she panted, and sweat mingled with the blood smudging her face. "It's not over until one of us is dead," she hissed, channeling more of her energy into her staff. "And I can guarantee that it won't be me!"

"We'll see about that!" Garen retorted and he pushed his exhausted muscles forward in a sprint. The gap between them close abruptly and he caught the spell she cast with the flat of his blade before turning it on edge to slice across her chest. She stumbled back in time for the blow to be glancing, but her skin split in a flood of red. Growling she flicked her wrist, shooting tendrils of magic that wrapped around his wrists and feet, making him grind to a halt with his sword raised.

But Katarina had ducked behind a pillar only to emerge dashing for LeBlanc before she could follow through. The assassin threw herself into the attack, whipping her daggers around in a blur that was too fast for the mage to follow. A cut opened across her thigh below the wound from Akali, another along the flesh Kiersta had burned, a new one that added depth to Garen's.

Screaming in fury the mage swung her staff and a barrage of spells forced Katarina to slink back into the shadows as Garen came charging in from her blind side. All it took was one strike: He jabbed the blade in through her back, over one hip and only just to the side of her spine. On weakened legs LeBlanc turned with her staff glowing as she wavered and shot an orb point blank into his chest.

The Demacian felt his heart flutter, stalling before it beat again; the room started to spin. Groggily he reached out for the mage, her face twisted in pain and pleasure looming out from the blurry room. His fingers closed around the headpiece nestled in her hair and he felt her hands tugging frantically against his, trying to extricate the jewel from his grip. With a cry, Garen twisted and snapped, ripping the ornament from her hair.

With a clang it fell from his hands and he thought maybe her face was different but he couldn't tell. He blinked and suddenly he was staring at the ceiling and Katarina's face was hovering over his. Her mouth was open like she was saying something but it sounded far away and he couldn't make out what it was. His heart stuttered, again and again like it didn't know how it was supposed to beat anymore.

Then it went dark.

"Garen!" Katarina slapped his cheeks and he groaned but didn't answer. Behind her, LeBlanc- no, Evaine- laughed.

"Shut up, bitch!" the assassin screamed, rising to face the Matron of the Black Rose. Gone was her smooth skin and hair, replaced by a woman of middling age; her face was lined with the stresses of age, her wavy hair streaked with gray. She knelt where Garen had struck her, her pale fingers trying and failing to keep the blood in her body. "What did you do to him!"

"Lucky shot," the mage croaked with a grin. Katarina growled and aimed a kick at Evaine's face. The woman collapsed with a groan; blood trickled down her chin and the assassin's boot connected with her ribcage in another vicious blow.

"Kat stop!"

Talon rushed to her side, Lux close behind who gasped when she saw her brother lying on the ground. But the red-head ignored him, grasping the mages head and bringing it into her knee with a sickening crack as the delicate bones of her face shattered.

She felt him grab her arm but she pushed him off, reaching for the daggers she'd dropped in her haste to attend to Garen. When Talon seized her again, her expression was contorted in furious rage and he was forced to dodge as she swung at him. "No mercy," she hissed.

Evaine gasped, her eyes swollen, nose and mouth a broken, bloody mess, as Katarina knelt and took a handful of her hair before jerked her head back. The Deceiver started to speak, a nearly unintelligible gurgle, but the assassin never let her finish.

With a smile on her face, Katarina sank the blade into her neck. Evaine gasped once before Katarina wrenched it slowly through the arteries, tendons, muscles in her neck. Her heart thumped, desperately trying to get oxygen to her brain, sending waves of lifeblood pumping from the wound. The assassin held Evaine's gaze for another moment before pushing the woman's twitching body to the ground. What should have been a victorious moment tasted like bile in the back of her throat.

Behind her, Garen still lay less than five feet away, unmoving save for the shallow rise and fall of his chest. On her hands and knees she crawled to his side, the exhaustion of the day unwilling to let her rise. Her vision was blurry and she heard a voice, her voice, cry, "Get a healer! Something's wrong!"

"He just passed out, Kat," Talon murmured, a look of pity on his face. "He'll be fine."

"Don't look at me like that!" she commanded hysterically. "Get a healer!"

And all three look down in alarm as the Garen's breath hitched.

He gasped again, body seized, then shuddered.

"GET A HEALER!" Katarina screamed again, and this time Talon ran.

* * *

Evelynn strolled casually through the Institute halls, following the sounds of combat. In one hand she gripped two small vials filled with red liquid, while the other traced lazy patterns in the wall as she walked. With the inhibitor down, no one could have so much as guessed that she was even there: Her stiletto heels were silent, and she wore the cover of darkness like veil, shrouding her from sight. She paused at the reflection chamber doors which were wide open, traced her claw-like nails over the panther relief carved into its surface.

"Rawr," she told them with a grin, before passing the threshold confidently. The purple cloaked boy and the blonde girl did not hear her approach over their own footsteps as they made their rushed exit. Her steps hastened as she saw the state of the Grand General of Noxus.

"My you are a mess, Jericho," the Widowmaker crooned, squatting next to the rapidly dying man. His eyes were wide open but he didn't seem to see her.

"Well that's fine," she smirked. "I suppose you didn't pay me to sit around and chat." She gripped the vial's cork between her pointed teeth and spat it out, then proceeded to sprinkle the liquid over Swain's gaping throat. The tissue started to knit back together, slowly at first then with increasing speed as she poured more over the wound. She noted curiously that as his wounds healed, so did his raven's who limped to perch on his shoulder. Suddenly, the Noxian let out a loud gasp as his windpipe was sewn shut.

"There! That's more like it!" Evelynn smiled, patting him on the chest. She uncorked the second vial and poured its contents down his throat to aid the recovery of his stab wounds. As he regained his composure, the woman reached up to remove the necklace she wore before slipping it over Swain's head. At the end of the chain was a small hourglass filled with tiny crystals instead of sand.

Swain jerked his gaze to hers and moved to rip the chain from his neck but it was too late; Evelynn flipped the hourglass, setting the crystals into motion. At once, his muscles froze as a soft golden glow erupted from the hourglass and enveloped his body and that of his raven.

"I know it wasn't exactly part of _our_ deal," she sighed, "but if the Shadow Isles have any chance of taking over this rock, we're gonna need your brain!" Stretching sensuously as she stood, Evelynn put her thumb and index finger in her mouth and let out a shrill whistle. There were a few minutes of silence where the woman stood inspecting her fingernails and occasionally prodding the frozen General with her toe, but in a burst of blue ghost-fire, Hecarim materialized within the chamber.

"This is the Tactician?" he questioned pawing the ground at Swain's head. "I could crush him with a single hoof."

Evelynn rolled her eyes. "He's a little worse for the wear," she admitted. "And he still needs a lot of healing so be careful! But if you kill him before Morde says it's ok, he won't be very happy."

The spectral horse-man snorted, but knelt to pick up the immobilized human in his arms. "When will we see you next, Widowmaker?" he intoned.

"Oh, I'll be back soon," she informed, running a hand through her mess of pink hair. "Once I cement my... _relations_with the Prophet."

Hecarim shook his head in what could have been exasperation, but his unearthly face betrayed nothing. Without another word, he turned and galloped a short distance before disappearing once again in spectral flames.

"Now, Malzahar," she whispered to herself. "How about we get things going with the Void?" A short laugh escaped her lips at her own words as Evelynn strode out of the reflection chamber and vanished into the night.


	20. Balance in All Things

_The last full chapter of The Only Truth. I managed to find a way to somewhat integrate Freljord's new lore *grumble grumble* so yay I guess. I have one more little chapter to add after this, just a tid bit to wrap things up. I want to thank everyone who has stuck it out and made this journey with me. I know I've learned a lot through writing this and I hope it shows. Even so, nothing can ease this fear I have at posting this chapter. I'm terrified of disappointing anyone after coming all this way. But I'm putting my heart on my sleeve here and hoping for the best. This story has been my baby; I want to end it perfectly (though, the next chapter really ends it...)! I'm sad to be finishing this but also happy to see it come the end I'd hoped for it. I... damn, I don't even know what else to say. I seriously think I'm tearing up. Damn it! Just read the chapter!_

* * *

_Balance in All Things_

* * *

"...heart won't be the same..."

"Please get up."

* * *

In the last light of day, Morgana finally knelt in submission to her pain. Thick waves of violet hair spilled in front of her tear-streaked face as she bent over the armored form of her sister. Centuries of fighting tyranny, researching magic, and serving summoners were coming to a close and yet the sweet victory tasted bitter to the Fallen Angel. She hesitated for a moment, then wrested Kayle's helm from her head.

The Judicator's tired blue eyes opened to give her sister an angry glare as her face was bared to the night air. "Are you... pleased... with what you've done?" she coughed, sending blood dripping down her chin.

Her words were a slap in the face. "Why won't you see reason!" Morgana screeched. "I could save you if you'd only say I was right!"

"Listen to... yourself," Kayle scoffed. "You don't understand... anything, after all... this time! I... wanted to make things better... you've undone... it all."

The Fallen Angel clenched her fists in her lap, saying nothing as her sister struggled to continue breathing. Their fight had been been wrought with their ancient arguments and Morgana couldn't understand how even after all that, Kayle wouldn't change, even though she would die. She had the power to save; she'd learned healing magics before delving into the black arts.

"You don't have to die, Kayle," the dark angel whispered. "If you'd only compromise we could return home to end the fighting-"

"I... cannot... compromise!" the blonde retorted with a sneer on her face. "You win, Morgana."

With a furious snarl, Morgana placed her hand over her sister's chest, sending a pulse of magic through her fingertips that stopped her heart; Kayle's body convulsed, then she was still. A scream somewhere between triumph and agony pierced the air as Morgana bent over the body of her sister, crying for what could have been, what would never be, and what would come.

The moon was already well above the horizon when she'd finally exhausted all her tears. On shaking legs, the mage rose with Kayle's sword in hand, staggering a short distance away before turning. In her hand a dark flame burned and without sparing her sister any more of her tears, she shot the bolt of magic and Kayle's body was engulfed in violet flames.

Centuries of fighting had come to a close. It was time to go home.

* * *

Katarina ran a hand through her hair, letting it tumble over her eyes before she tucked it behind her ears with a sigh. What she really wanted was to take a shower: The grime of dried blood and days old sweat and dirt caked her skin and clothes, contributing to her inattention, along with the need to attend to Garen and Talon. Instead, she fidgeted in her seat beside her father as he, Ashe, Irelia, Master Yi, Jarvan IV, Lux, Pantheon, Leona, Teemo, and Tristana gathered in the former representatives chambers to come to a quick agreement about what to do about the Institute of War.

"Call someone from every city-state," Ashe insisted. "In a few days we can all decide on what to do and I do not believe the decisions that await us should be made by only us."

"Mount Targon has long been excluded from such councils," Leona stated, her voice prim despite her disheveled appearance. "We wish for inclusion."

Eyes red and skin pale, Jarvan looked every bit as exhausted as Katarina felt, and he seemed to try arguing every point anyone made. "Fine, but city-states like Bilgewater and Zaun did nothing to help. They shouldn't be included. And what about Piltover?"

" Piltover is sending two statesmen to contend for them," Ashe said.

"Noxus was at the heart of this," Irelia interjected, her neutral tone betraying none of the contempt she felt for the state. "If Bilgewater and Zaun are excluded, so must Noxus be excluded.."

"Which I won't allow," Marcus added; Katarina nodded listlessly.

"If Noxus is comin', they shouldn't be allowed to have as much say as the rest of us," Teemo interjected. "You're too pushy!"

Marcus sent a disdainful glance at the scowling yordles across from him and smirked, "Well if Noxus get's sanctions, so does Demacia. They're just as big and _pushy_ as we are."

"Demacia did the most in this war," Jarvan sneered. "No sanctions."

Katarina screamed in frustration, throwing her hands in the air. "All of you people are fucking ridiculous!" she vented, her angry green eyes meeting the surprised gazes of the rest. "Jarvan, you're not even king. Ashe and Irelia didn't even get here until the battle was over. Dad, you've been missing for years!" The red-head laughed. "Actually, the yordles and the Rakkor should rule the damn world!"

"Do you have anything sensible to suggest?" Ashe said icily.

The assassin put a hand on her chest in mock surprise. "Me? I just follow orders and win the wars. No one ever asks me what to do after!" Her father muttered her name in warning but she disregarded him with a wave. "Everyone should be involved," she demanded, "equal representation, but with restrictions on Noxus, Zaun, and Bilgewater. If it was all based on who did what, me and Garen would be..." And just like that, her tirade stopped abruptly and for a moment the temperature of the room seemed to cool in mutual sympathy.

"Whatever," Katarina mumbled. She pushed away from the table and trudged across the room, pausing long enough to say, "You people can figure it out. Fucking politics," before slamming the door behind her. Each of them suppressed a shudder as her miserable scream echoed after her down the hall.

* * *

Work on burning the dead had finally halted hours after nightfall when the work had become too exhausting and all the soldiers returned to the camps of their respective city-states. With no where else to go, Champions with no allegiances turned toward the Institute, the only place many of them called home. But Talon was reluctant to return to his make-shift room and its memories, so instead he huddled beneath his cloak at the foot of the stairs.

He, Marcus, and Katarina had agreed to wait for tomorrow before completing Cassiopeia's pyre and last rites. He couldn't say he wasn't grateful for the delay; killing was easy, but he'd never had to bury someone he loved.

Even now the word love was foreign on his tongue but it was the only thing that could possibly describe the bitter weight in his chest. They were a family, him, Cass, Marcus, and Kat. Where other people had failed, they never disappointed, and cool indifference had eventually grown to respect, then mutuality until somehow he found that he remembered how to smile around them. Especially Cassiopeia: They'd been two monsters rediscovering their humanity together.

Against his will, his eyes began to burn and he squeezed them shut. As long as he could remember, he'd never cried, not even when, at the age of ten, he'd murdered Kavyn and dumped his body in the gutter, the first of hundreds. But now...

He pounded his first into the staircase, let out a strangled growl. He should have been there, could have saved her if he'd just _been there_. How would Marcus or Katarina ever look him in the eyes again?

"Hey."

Her voice was hoarse and it cracked in her greeting, but the hooded assassin wasn't ready to face Katarina yet. Saying nothing, Talon sunk further into his cloak, unwilling to let her see his bloodshot eyes.

From the muffled sound of her voice, he knew she would be curled up with her knees drawn tightly to her chest and her face buried into her knees. "Do you miss her?"

A short laugh burst from his lips at the absurdity of the question. "Of course," he whispered.

For a time they were quiet, sitting under the stars while campfires and pyres slowly burned down to a glow until Katarina finally said, "I don't blame you."

He couldn't help it; a faint whimper escaped his lips and though he was nearly thirty years old, the tears he'd tried to hold began to fall. "I should have been there to protect her," he choked, clenching his once confident hands into trembling fists. "I should have..."

"You were doing what you had to," Katarina answered. "Just like she was. Wasn't your fault." When he never replied, she added, "I used to think you didn't care about what happened to us. I'm glad I was wrong."

Talon's shoulders shook in a mixture of silent sobs and laughter and he scoffed, "I wish I didn't."

"Selfish," she retorted. For a moment he didn't care if she noticed the streaks worked through the dirt on his face; he looked over to see that a wry grin was twisted across her tired face and returned it with a thin smile of his own. Her face softened at the sight of his and she murmured, "Cass would be happy."

Talon nodded, letting the conversation lapse into silence for a moment before clearing his throat and asking, "How's Garen?"

Katarina's face fell. "They said he'd be ok, but no one's allowed to see him yet..." Her arms drew tighter around her knees, knuckles white as she held herself together. Talon sighed, then inched close enough for their arms to meet, the contact causing her to tremble and release an exhausted cry of her own. "I c-can't do this anymore, Talon," she stuttered. "It's too much-"

"You're tired, Kat," he said. "You just need to sleep."

She looked up for a moment like she was going to argue, but simply shrugged instead, resting her cheek on her knees. "Maybe."

Inhaling deeply, Talon stretched out his legs then clapped a hand on Katarina's shoulder. The sick, shaky feeling in his limbs was gone, though the weight still sat in his stomach; he didn't expect that would fade anytime soon. But he still had obligations to Marcus and he didn't intend to fail again. "Go clean up," he said. "I'll wait with you until you can see him."

* * *

What little light shone from the moon seemed to be swallowed by the trail of void dust Malzahar emitted as he drifted silently across the ravaged fields. Atop his shoulder, a voidling, one of the smallest creatures to be born from the Void, twittered quietly in his ear directing him where to go. Dead still littered the ground but the Void Prophet paid them no mind; there was only one for which his glowing eyes were looking.

He found Cho'Gath impaled on display about a hundred paces south of the Institute. The monstrous creature had no less than a dozen spears through him and four times as many wounds, but the most interesting aspect of his death was his size. Normally the Void monster loomed over humans, but here he was enormous, at least three times Malzahar's height. His maw hung loosely in death, scraps of cloth and bone still stuck between his fangs and the bitter scent of the void monster's blood stung the Prophet's senses.

The voidling chittered and the hooded man shook his head. The deep tones of his voice rumbled, "Cho'Gath was impatient. His hunger was too great."

Again the tiny creature replied this time its squeaks indignant. "Of course it will not go unpunished. Even now the Void prepares. But show them that they must hurry."

The voidling made a pleased sound before leaping from Malzahar's shoulder onto Cho'Gath's torso and skittering up to his head. It seemed to peer around, taking a full inventory of the monster's wounds before dissipating in puff of smoke and Void light.

"How about that," a sultry voice purred from behind him. "The Void won't be very happy."

Malzahar turned, taking in the sight of the blue-skinned woman tapping a finger against pursed lips. The Prophet was never startled- the remnants of his foresight saw to that- but still Evelynn's presence make his chest constrict uncomfortably. She both attracted and repelled him, an alluring predator who would devour him at the first misstep; the monsters of the Void were powerful and designed to be feared, but this creature was, he decided, more formidable because of its beautiful shell.

But the Prophet voiced none of his thoughts, asking instead, "Are the denizens of the Shadow Isles in agreement?"

"We are," the woman grinned, baring her pointed teeth. "When the Void invades, so will we. I believe they'll find us... _trustworthy _allies."

Malzahar narrowed his luminous gaze. "Explain."

Hips swaying hypnotically, Evelynn closed the gap between them, reaching to rake a clawed hand lightly across his chest. "We're very similar. We care nothing for politics or rules. The only thing of importance is taking a little space for ourselves. Our island is becoming so very small."

He was skeptical, but nodded anyway. He didn't control the Void and knew that once in Valoran, the monsters that would pour forth would have no regard for anyone, 'allied' or not.

As if she could read his thoughts, the Widowmaker chuckled, "The undead have nothing to fear from the Void."

An alarm of warning sounded in his head and not for the first time, Malzahar wished that his gift of foresight hadn't been overtaken by images of the Void. He couldn't see how the Shadow Isles came into play and felt vaguely as though she were making threats but simultaneously he believed there was nothing they could possibly do against the Void. In the end, he was only the Prophet.

"Kassadin-," he began.

"Can do nothing," she finished, her hand coming to rest on his belt. "Now, you'll let me know when the Void will open?"

Malzahar's mind was assaulted by images of the Void pouring into Valoran and he felt his chest swell with the hunger and anticipation of the Void; below his scarf, his mouth curved up into a grin. "How will I find you?"

The Widowmaker gave him a pat before pushing away from him, to his relief and disappointment. "Why don't you just leave me a note at my quarters here," she suggested, turning with a hand on her hip. "I'll be sure to find it."

The Prophet nodded in understanding before whipping around and gliding away from Institute, leaving Evelynn alone staring up at Cho'Gath's corpse. "It'll all be over soon," she promised herself, then vanished into the darkness.

* * *

Sound returned first, murmurs off and on, too hard to make out. A door shut, then there was silence- no, soft whispers, little sighs. And he heard his name.

It was so hard, he wanted to keep sleeping but he had to try. Garen opened his eyes.

The dim room came into focus and he noted that he was lying in the Institute's infirmary, surrounded by a curtain. He was stripped down to his underclothes and a few wires protruded from his arms. A blanket was draped over his legs but he could tell from the fresh scars on his arms that his wounds were newly healed. And face-down into his side, Katarina stirred, her arms draped across his stomach. With limbs like lead he reached to touch her, but at his slightest movement she bolted upright.

For a second she said nothing, simply staring with a look of disbelief etched across her face. Then her trembling fingers met his and she whispered, "Welcome back."

A smile on his face, he tugged her hand and she jumped to press a needy kiss to his lips. His other hand got tangled in her hair, still damp from washing, and her own fingers ghosted across his cheeks, his chest, his arms. When she finally pulled away, a murmur of disappointment bubbled in the Demacian's throat but Katarina shook her head, grinning. "I'm not going anywhere," she laughed.

Garen gave a soft sigh, then asked in a cracked voice, "Is... it over?"

For a fleeting moment the assassin looked hesitant, an uncharacteristic expression for the usually confidant woman, but it softened into a look of pride. "We did it," she said. "LeBlanc and Swain are dead. The Institute is ours."

The revelation of their victory made his heart swell with satisfaction, and that was when he noticed that her gaze was focused intently on his chest. "Why am... I here?" he questioned, a sharp edge in his voice. He moved to push himself into a sitting position but Katarina leapt to press him back into the bed.

"Don't exert yourself," she squeaked, the same hesitant look coming over her.

His own feelings of fear and doubt washed over him and he considered leaving it alone; instead, he swallowed and demanded, "What's wrong with me?"

The red-head bit her lip as if to hold her words in, but at the look of determination on Garen's face she sighed, "They said... well, do you just want to wait for-"

"Katarina," he pleaded, "tell me."

Her eyebrows drew together and she pinched the bridge of her nose between her fingers before collapsing next to him on the bed. "It's your heart," she said bluntly, meeting his gaze with her own. "Whatever that spell was, it made your heart restart or something. It doesn't beat regularly anymore, not all the time. The healer said you shouldn't do too much at once because, well..."

Garen didn't move, letting her words sink like a weight into his thoughts. So many questions were running through his mind he couldn't focus, and at the same time he didn't to try. He swung his legs over the bed's edge and rose slowly to sit next her. The woman wrapped her arms around him, placed her head in the crook of his neck, whispering, "I'm sorry."

For a time they sat in silence, holding each other tightly and taking comfort in the feeling. As best he could, Garen forced the truth about his condition from his mind; now that the world was in a state of chaos, there was even more to do than before, no time for relaxing. The Demacian tightened his grip on Katarina, buried his face in her hair and breathed in her scent. He thought he had nothing to offer her before when he lost his city; now he wasn't even whole.

"Please don't stay," he choked out. "The fighting's done and I have nothing to give-"

"Don't even try," she interrupted as she stood to face him. "You didn't leave me after we were exiled from Noxus and you didn't leave me when I couldn't walk." The assassin placed her hands on his shoulders, leaned in to look him in the eye. "I've lost too much already and I am not leaving without you."

The soldier cupped her cheek in his hand, then leaned forward to capture her lips again in a kiss. This time there was no resistance as she placed her knee on the bed and pressed him again onto his back. His hands slid down the bare skin of her waist to grip her hips as she climbed on top of him. And just as her fingers were drifting over the waistband of his pants, the sound of an opening door cut the silence and the lights came up as the curtain was flung aside.

"Oh, I see you're awake," the healer who had rushed in commented dryly, lowering her clipboard from her face. "The machines in here were saying your heart rate was up. I can see why."

With a modest cough the assassin shifted from his lap onto the bed as Garen struggled to sit. "I, uh... yeah, sorry," he said weakly, pulling a blanket over his waist. "Look, I feel ok. Can I just..."

"Mr. Crownguard, let me be honest with you," the nurse stated as she walked over to check the equipment. "If you want to live a long life, you're going to have to take it easy." She set down her clipboard and placed her fingers against his neck. "With an irregular heart rate you can't get too worked up or stressed out, and we'll need to check on you regularly to make sure everything is ok. But your fighting days are over."

"I-I... understand," he stammered transferring his gaze to his lap. "But for right now...?"

The healer shot him a calculating look, then began detaching the wires and tubes from his arms. "Ideally I would keep you here at least another day, but with all the fighting that just happened there's plenty in far worse condition than you who need the space and attention." Once she'd finished, the woman picked up her clipboard and used it to motion toward the door. "Go ahead, but we'll be getting in touch with you once this madness ends."

Katarina leapt to her feet to help Garen to his; his legs trembled slightly and for a moment he swayed as a wave of dizziness washed over him, but the red-head slung his arm over her shoulder to steady him. Behind them the healer clucked in disapproval as the pair stumbled through the door.

The halls of the infirmary were buzzing as healers dashed back and forth between rooms. It was all they could do to avoid running into someone and their progress was slow, but when they'd made it to the quiet of the outer corridors, Garen asked, "Where's my stuff?"

"I took it to our room," she replied. Her smile was thin but the spark of mischief was in her eyes. "How 'bout we head there first?"

A knowing look alighted on his face and, ever so slightly, their pace quickened.

* * *

Garen wanted to keep sleeping, but Katarina pushed on him lightly until he opened his eyes. The rising sun cast a cool glow across the bed and he had to squint as he turned over to draw her back into his chest.

"Too early," he murmured in her ear.

The assassin rolled over, slipping her arm over his side. She look pale, like she hadn't rested well after their lovemaking, making him feel guilty that he'd slept so soundly. But they'd only grabbed a few hours of respite at best and it was all he could do to stay awake. "I want to let you sleep," she whispered, "But we're burning Cass today. I need you."

The Demacian winced; all it had taken was one night with her and he'd forgotten that there was a world of pain and loss outside their bedroom. "Of course," he reassured, nuzzling her neck before rolling over with a groan. Every last muscle ached and, if it were possible, he felt more exhausted than he had the day before. As he stretched, the Demacian felt his chest tighten and his heart raced momentarily as it adjusted to his state of wakefulness, a small reminder of his own loss.

They met Talon and Marcus at the South steps of the Institute and began their silent walk out into the field. All armies had contributed to the mass of trees cut and graves dug; even so, it took them an hour to choose and arrange the wood and grass into the pyre. The three DuCouteau's wrapped her body the day before and placed her in a large swatch of canvas, but had no choice but to leave her outside; they all had the foresight not eat that day, which proved a good decision as the hours were not kind to her body.

"She'd be so pissed if she knew we hadn't burned her right away," Katarina worried, looking at the thick layers of cloth that bound her sister's body; Talon made a sound of agreement.

Her father cleared his throat and said, "Then let's not waste more time."

All four took a corner of the canvas and lifted her into the pyre. While Katarina and her father adjusted the brush around her, Garen stood to the side and observed as Talon, his tattered, purple hood back in reverence, pulled a folded piece of paper from his belt and tucked it quickly into the creases of the wrapping. Their eyes met and held for a moment, the expression on the assassin's face unreadable; then Katarina backed into the Demacian's arms and Talon turned sharply so no one else would see the blood rushing to his cheeks.

"Are you ready, dad?" the red-head asked, unable to tear her gaze from the pyre.

In answer, Marcus pulled a matchbook from his cloak and tossed it to Talon, then pulled a bundle of twigs and grass from the pile. Katarina looked up to Garen who squeezed her hand, before she moved to join the rest of her household. In one swift motion two matches slid across the starter and Marcus inclined the brush to catch the flame. All three took hold and faced the pyre, sharing a moment of silence before they each whispered their last words to Cassiopeia:

"I'm sorry I wasn't there, baby girl."

"No matter what I said, you were always the prettier sister."

"I wouldn't have been part of the family without you."

Together, they lowered the torch to the pyre and stepped away to watch as it caught fire.

It wasn't until the flames were roaring that Marcus began to cry, silent tears dripping slowly into his beard. Katarina looked up to Garen, her own eyes watering, and whispered, "I want to leave."

The Demacian nodded, taking her hand and guiding her under his arm before turning to walk away; she gave the fire one more look as they departed, spared a glance for her father and Talon, then buried her face into Garen's chest.

It was hours before the fire began to die. Marcus and Katarina were long gone but Talon still sat nearby, tending the fire and keeping vigil. No one but Cass would know that his tear-streaked face was not because of smoke.

And no one but Cass would know what he burned with her that day.

* * *

Subdued, Garen and Katarina trudged back through the halls of the Institute toward their room, showered, then slept until midday, wakened only by a knock on the door. The assassin still clung to his chest but her eyes were dry; gently as he could the Demacian disentangled her fingers from his shirt and answered to a stoic Marcus DuCouteau.

"You two need to come to the council meeting tonight," he said, his baritone voice stiff, the only remaining evidence of his previous grief. "We're finalizing the proposal on what to do with the Institute. And for fucks sake you're supposed to be a leader. Get out and talk to the people who fought for you or something."

Garen bristled at the obvious slight, swallowed, forced himself to calm. "I appreciate the advice, sir," he ground out. "I'll do that."

Marcus smirked and though his smile possessed a hard quality to it, it seemed a mirror of Katarina's. "You're smart. I accept that you're only keeping your composure for Katarina's sake." In a flash he had a small knife resting casually at the Demacian's carotid artery. "But for _your_ sake, you better not hurt her, because she'll be the least of your concerns."

The soldier looked down on the assassin, refusing to squirm despite his distress; instead, his own hand wrapped around the smaller man's fist and pushed it away. "That's not something you will ever have to worry about," he retorted. "Besides, maybe you'll like me one day too."

"You're sleeping with my only remaining daughter," the DuCouteau patriarch scoffed. "The likelihood is low."

Suddenly Katarina stirred in the background and called out in a croaking voice, "Dad... are you harassing him?"

With one last scowl at Garen, Marcus replied, "Just checking up on you," before turning away with a flourish of his cloak.

"What'd he want?" she asked, running a hand through her hair.

Sighing the Demacian shut the door and answered, "Looks like we've gotta make our rounds."

* * *

They made their way toward the hospital, greeting everyone they passed along the way. Jax and Olaf boisterously declared they would buy them drinks; Taric gave them a soft smile and offered his skill with gems should they need it, causing Garen to blush. Soldiers in varying states of health from all city-states saluted them to their embarrassment, but they made time to speak with each. Though the halls were fairly deserted, the Infirmary was indeed packed, and as they entered again, they met Riven on her way out.

The Noxian's arm was splinted, wrapped, and bound against her chest so it wouldn't move, but despite the restriction she seemed to be more tranquil than before the fighting began. To their surprise, the woman smiled when she saw them, raising her good hand as she approached and wrapping it around Katarina's shoulder in a hug. "I'm glad to see you're both alive," she said.

"And you," the red-head replied. "How's your arm?"

Riven shrugged her shoulder. "They were able to heal the worst of it, but it probably won't ever be as strong as it was before. Good thing it isn't my sword arm." A weak chuckle left her mouth as she added, "Though with luck, I won't really need to fight anymore anyway."

Garen nodded, and Katarina noted, "You seem like you're actually happy, Riven!"

A gentle smile lit the Noxian soldier's eyes. "I was able to speak with Irelia and Master Yi to explain my actions in the occupation and apologize for what happened in the Navori region. Yi wasn't too pleased, but I think Irelia was more forgiving." The Exile's cheeks darkened slightly as her voice dropped lower to say, "She said she would show me how beautiful Ionia's become since then, if I wanted. I'll be going back with them after all this is sorted out."

The assassin raised an eyebrow, a teasing grin on her face. "Just to see the beauty of Ionia, huh?" A flustered mumble was all Riven managed before Katarina laughed, "Sorry. I'm glad, though. Seems like you're at peace with the past finally. You deserve to smile for a change."

"Thanks, Katarina," the red-eyed woman said sincerely before snapping into a Noxian salute. "For everything you've done for me."

It was Katarina's turn to be flustered as she gave her own sloppy salute in return. "I haven't... oh, whatever. We'll see you around, Riven. Write to me or something!"

Laughing, Riven continued through the doors and Garen inclined his head toward the Infirmary's lobby. "That was a pleasant surprise," he mentioned as they dodged summoners between rooms.

"Yeah, she looks completely different already," Katarina said. "I'm glad some good came out all this shit."

Garen slipped an arm around her side and pressed a kiss to her temple. "You don't call this good?"

"Oh I do," the assassin smiled before pushing away to lead him on to the ward, "but I also have a very particular reputation to maintain. Now let's get this over with. I wanna get this finished before this stupid meeting."

By the time they'd worked through every room, gone outside to every camp, it was dark again and Garen was spent. Even from walking, his chest felt tight on occasion, a harsh reminder he earnestly ignored. But the night was far from over and the reluctant pair made their way to the representative's chamber for the day's meeting.

"I see our esteemed leaders have no concept of time," Ashe murmured, her chilly voice carrying despite her low intensity. By the time they'd arrived, the rest of the city-state advocates sat around one long table, already arguing. Katarina shrugged while Garen ignored her comment, returning Lux's delighted smile with one of his own as she ran up to throw her arms around him.

"Sit next to me!" the blonde squealed. "And don't mind Ashe; she's just cranky from being so far South." The Frost Archer's pale skin colored under her astute observation.

As Lux led them to their seats, the soldier realized that the room had gone quiet and everyone's gazes were directed at them: Ashe, Irelia, Jarvan, Lux, Marcus, Talon, Pantheon, Leona, Teemo, Tristana, Caitlin and the statesman freshly arrived from Piltover... He scanned them all until he met Jarvan's hard stare; at a glance he looked angry, but the prince immediately averted his eyes before his friend could get a better look.

The pair sat stiffly between Noxus and Demacia, the bridge between the two states. It hadn't been all that long since his exile, despite all that had happened since then, but Garen felt strangely disconnected. Uncertain, he looked to the red-head to his right, who seemed just as uncomfortable as he did. Demacia wasn't his home any longer, not technically, yet he imagined Lux and Jarvan IV expected him to speak for them; it would likely be the same for Katarina. What if their political goals were different? As far as they'd come, maybe they would be bound once again by the ties of their city-states.

"Now that we're all here, why don't we do a quick run down of our compromised solution?" Lux suggested brightly.

"Agreed," Irelia said. Her trademark blades hugged close to her back, quivering almost imperceptibly as she spoke. "The Institute of War will no longer be governed by elite summoners. Instead it will be run by the representatives of the city-states working together for the benefit of all." Everyone nodded or murmured their agreement, so the Ionian continued, her expression apathetic.

"Mount Targon will hereby be recognized as an official city-state. All city-states will hold equal representation at the new Institute of War. Restrictions will be placed on Noxus, Zaun, Bilgewater regarding military standards, which will be strictly enforced by the rest. Good behavior will result in lessening of restrictions."

A smirk on her face, Katarina whispered in Garen's ear, "I'm a fucking genius." To her right, Marcus DuCouteau grumbled something under his breath, but raised no argument.

Garen's head began to droop as the Ionian read on through the finer details of the temporary treaty. Limitations on armaments, strict peace policies, monitoring of restrictions, all of it laid out, argued, and agreed upon. He could feel Lux and Jarvan's stares throughout but he purposefully ignored them, offering no support or defense, and was relieved when Katarina did the same; the assassin had gone so far as to lay her head on the table, tapping her fingers in a rhythmic pattern.

He felt a nudge in his side and looked over to see Lux sliding a piece of paper and pen under his arm. In her small, neat, cursive was written, _Are you coming home?_

Resisting the urge to laugh, Garen scrawled, _I can't. J3 exiled me, penalty of death. Remember?_

_If I told you I'm going to make it happen?_

Against his will, a shiver ran down his spine. He looked to his smiling sister who was watching Irelia intently and wondered why the simple question made him feel sick. The implications... but that conversation could never be held on paper, so he simply wrote, _I don't know. Katarina. _

Lux read, nodded, then let the paper disintegrate in a tiny flash of light from her palm, apologizing to the room as they looked at her in confusion.

It was well into the night by the time details had been specified, but when midnight came the emergency treaty was finished; the air in the room lifted with each signature that was affixed to the last page.

"There's only one last thing to discuss," Lux chimed. The blonde reached to her side and set a bag on the table, pulling out the cracked, gold headpiece that had once belonged to LeBlanc. "This contains in it the essence of Emilia LeBlanc. Anyone who wears it gains her powers and identity. I move for its complete destruction."

At once, the others voiced their agreement and Katarina commented, "How? Because I want every tiny piece of that thing to cease existing."

The blonde nodded, "Definitely. I was thinking of asking Taric to break the metal and gem into as many pieces as possible. Then I can blast it with a concentrated beam of light that should essentially vaporize what remains."

"Do you think it will work?" Ashe posed.

"Yeah I'm pretty positive," Lux replied as she shoved the jeweled item back into her bag. "If not, I'll find a way."

Marcus stroked his chin, then asked, "How can we be sure you won't use this for Demacia's purposes?"

The light mage directed a cool glare at him. "I can assure you, Mister DuCouteau, we have no desire for LeBlanc to ever rise again," she said with a nod of agreement from Jarvan. "And that has nothing to do with Demacia; we value the lives of the whole of Valoran far more than a political agenda."

The room seemed content with her answer and even Marcus made a face of acceptance as he leaned back into his seat. "I suppose if you didn't, the consequences would be on you anyway," the old assassin said, a smug grin on his face. Her only reply was to raise an eyebrow at the Noxian, flicking her gaze between him and Talon, who was staring at her with an odd look on his face.

"If there is nothing left to consider, then I am ending this meeting," Irelia intoned, rising to her feet and sparing everyone around her a calculating glance. "We will meet again as we determined, in one month's time after there's been sufficient time to rebuild and consult with the other members of our respective governments." With nothing left to say, the Ionian glided from the room, the others following suit, but as Garen and Katarina stood, Marcus looked to Jarvan and muttered, "I think we all need to talk." His green eyes met his daughter's and he added, "So sit down."

Garen frowned as did Katarina, but the pair settled back into their seats. Beside the soldier, Lux leaned in, propping her chin on her hand with an expectant expression; the prince sighed, rubbed a hand over his face, but obliged the Noxian as well.

Clearing his throat, Marcus began, "I think we need to talk about relations between Demacia and Noxus from here on."

The light mage responded immediately. "If you take control of Noxus there should be no reason for us not to be allies."

"Golden boy here isn't even-"

"Don't finish that sentence," Jarvan snarled.

"Calm down," Lux snapped. "I can assure you that Prince Jarvan will be able to change many of the outdated laws that have since hindered cooperation between our city-states."

The assassin's eyes glimmered. "Wonderful. Then with mister commander here and my daughter thinking they're in a relationship, it looks like we've already got our envoys."

As Jarvan began to nod, Garen shook his head and blurted, "No way," just as Katarina hissed, "I don't think so."

Marcus had enough discipline that his face remained impassive, but the prince's face collapsed into anger. "We told you we were doing this to try and get you back into Demacia," Jarvan warned. "Now you do your part for us!"

A look of resentment found its way onto Garen's face. "I think I've done my fair share for this city!"

"If you're not going to be an envoy for Demacian, then there's no reason for you to be with my daughter," the Noxian leader smirked.

Katarina let out a harsh laugh and said, "You think I'd just go along with that?"

"You will if you want to come home," her father threatened.

"Marcus."

All eyes turned toward Talon, who had been sitting all but ignored until then. When he had their attention, he spoke. "I'll do it."

Surprise descended on the room. "What are you talking about?" the DuCouteau patriarch asked after a moment of silence.

Talon met Katarina's confused stare and repeated, "I'll be the envoy for Noxus." Inside his chest his heart hammered, hoping that Marcus would accept. He might have failed Cassiopeia, but he would do what he could to fulfill his old promise and protect Katarina, even if it was from the man to whom he'd sworn his oath.

"I'll do it too!" Lux chimed in. Garen began to protest but the blonde silenced him with a shake of her head. "This is perfect," she insisted, locking eyes with Talon. "We'll actually get some work done this way. If it was Garen and Katarina we couldn't count on anything being taken care of!"

Garen felt the heat rising to his cheeks at the implications of his sister's comment, but he didn't dare object. For the favor she was doing him, she could say whatever she pleased. The last thing he wanted was to be forced back into a role he hated with his relationship dependent on his job.

"Fine," Jarvan sneered as he pushed away from the table. "Garen, remember this when you want to come home." With his stinging words said, the prince stormed away, slamming the door as he exited.

"We'll talk about this later, Talon. Let's go," Marcus commanded, rising to his feet. In a flash, the two assassins disappeared from sight leaving Garen, Lux, and Katarina alone.

With a frown on his face, Garen pleaded, "Lux, you don't have to do this. I wouldn't wish this on anyone."

The blonde waved her hand as she stood. "Please. I _want_ to do this. Jarvan's barely fit to lead anyone right now. _I _am. But I need his authority. What better way to get things done than to be his envoy?"

As the three walked out into the hall, Katarina smiled, "You're much sneakier than I would have ever given you credit for, Lux. Remind me never to get on your bad side." Luxanna laughed in response, high-pitched and girly despite the craftiness of her previous statement.

The soldier's grim expression only deepened and he replied, "But how do you plan on bypassing the King's authority?"

Her blue eyes sparkled, a devious smile spreading across her face. "Secret. The less people who know, the better. It's safer that way."

Again the uneasy feeling in his stomach twisted but once Lux had decided something there would be no changing her mind. "Do you think Jarvan's going to be ok?" Garen asked instead, his question dampening his sister's smile. She stopped walking as they neared an intersection of hallway.

"I don't think he'll be ok for a long time," the mage finally admitted. "Shyvana's loss hit him really hard and now he's losing you too. I think he's afraid that he'll be alone. That's why I need this position because otherwise I don't think he'll follow through."

"I see," he mumbled.

"You're still like his brother," Lux said, starting off down the hall that would lead her outside to the Demacian camp. "He's really not mad at you."

He gave her a slow nod of understanding. "Thanks, Lux."

The woman's smile seemed to brighten the dark hallway. "Of course! Good night Garen, Katarina!"

* * *

As much as she kept up her abrasive front, Katarina was reluctant to leave him and worried about his heart though she said nothing; it had taken a lot of convincing to go alone to talk to Jarvan, but it was something he knew would be better done privately.

What remained of the Demacian soldiers who'd accompanied the prince pointed Garen toward his tent, a small thing lost in the sea of canvas; the only thing to differentiate it as his was the faded banner on the front emblazoned with the Lightshield crest. The former commander paused long enough to call, "Jarvan, it's Garen," before pushing his way through the entrance flap.

The prince lay on a cot holding reports over his head to read. His armor was carefully placed in one corner, a crate which served as a makeshift desk nearby with the rest of his papers. "I don't think it's necessary to discuss anything else," the prince replied without averting his eyes from the material. "You've made it pretty clear whose side you're on."

"Damn, Jarvan," Garen sighed. "I'm not here to talk politics."

Finally, his friend set the papers down on his chest and turned to look at him. "Go away," he said stubbornly. He didn't need to add, _or else._

Garen pulled the crate away from the cot, placing the papers on the ground before sinking onto its uncomfortably short surface. Jarvan made a sound of disapproval, but the former commander considered it a good sign that he hadn't moved to make good on his unspoken threat. With a cheery smile he plucked the documents from the prince's chest and set them in the pile as well. "Make me."

Jarvan groaned in frustration then sat up to face him. "What do you want?" To others he might have sounded caustic, intimidating, but it was clear to his friend that there was an underlying exhaustion present that had nothing to do with sleep.

He knew there was no point in avoiding the subject, but Garen asked as gently as possible, "How are you holding up?"

The prince physically recoiled and turned his head to mask the blatant hurt that accompanied the question. "I'm fine," he ground out.

"Really? _Really_?" the former commander asked, sarcasm evident in his tone. "Excuse me if I have trouble believing you."

"Get out," the prince hissed as he rose to his feet. Garen thought for a moment he'd gone too far, but the other man's posture reflected none of the anger in his tone.

So instead, the soldier stood as well, meeting his friend's gaze. "No. Now sit down," he commanded. Jarvan scowled but collapsed into his cot without a fight. As the commander sat across from him, he added softly, "I'm not going anywhere Jarvan. And... I'm so sorry," and both knew he was no longer talking about his attitude.

Gradually, the prince's anger melted away, leaving only the crippled shell of a man in mourning. "I can't live without her," he choked out, letting his hands cover his face. "I-I don't... know what... to do! A-All the plans we had, all of this... the only reason I did... this, was for her!"

"What... plans?" Garen asked. His sister mentioned plans, but he still wasn't sure what exactly she meant.

The prince took a few sharp breaths trying to regain his composure, then breathed, "Lux's plans to... displace Father. Fighting h-here, and... your mother convincing the legislature... B-but I only wanted to do it... to be with her!"

Stunned, the commander wisely kept his mouth shut as Jarvan continued, "W-What's the point in any of it now! I don't... want to do this... without her!" A few muffled sobs tried to break free of his throat, but instead the man let out a guttural scream as he slammed his fist into his leg. "It wasn't supposed to be like this!"

The commander reached a callused hand to Jarvan's arm and the prince leaned into the touch, his head drooping until his forehead rested on the bigger man's shoulder. For a time the only sound was Jarvan trying to contain his anguish as Garen searched for something to say. His friend's outburst, no matter how he'd mentally prepared for it, was off-putting to the soldier and he could barely begin to imagine what Jarvan was feeling. The denial and guilt had to be overwhelming; the crown prince had never failed at anything, always gotten what he wanted, but in the only area it mattered, he'd lost.

In the end he said nothing and stayed unmoving until Jarvan's sobs had quieted. Finally, when the prince looked up and gave a slight nod, both turned away. With a last sympathetic look at his friend, Garen began his trek back to the Institute.

When the door to his room shut behind him, Katarina rolled over sleepily and murmured something incoherent; he said nothing for a time, simply undressed and joined her, pulling her into his arms.

"What's wrong?" she whispered, shifting in his embrace until his arm rested comfortably over her waist.

Even as heavy as his thoughts were, a hunger welled up inside him at the feel of her soft skin against his chest. He pushed it down, replying, "Everyone's leaving tomorrow except... I mean, where are we going to go?"

"Come home with me," she sighed.

"You have no house," he reminded.

The red-head groaned then turned to face him. "I don't know, Garen. I kinda just want to sleep right now. We can figure something out later, alright?"

"Well don't ask if you don't want to talk about it," he grumbled testily. He saw her scowl at him and she flipped over with a small huff so he tightened his grip on her; she squirmed, venting an irritated sound before giving up and sinking into him with a heavy sigh. Rather than loosen his hold, he buried his face in her hair, nuzzling her neck and murmuring, "Sorry," over and over in her ear until she giggled.

"I think... I want to go home for a while," she admitted after he ceased his apologetic chant. "I'd like it if you came with me. We don't have a house but there's the High Command."

Garen winced. "The High Command? Is that allowed?"

"It's a new Noxus," the woman replied. "One that will be build on the old principles. If you're strong, you'll rise, no more of the political games that Swain was playing. You just have to show everyone that they can't mess with you, just like the last time we went there."

"But for longer."

"Yeah."

The soldier considered it for a moment, tapping out his anxiety against her stomach. "I think I could do that," he conceded. "It's not like I can go home. And I'll have you."

"That's right," she yawned. "It doesn't have to be for long. After that, let's travel for a bit. We both have a ton of money we've barely used."

"What about long term?"

"We can figure that out later," she sighed.

Realizing he would get no where tonight, he dropped the point and simply asked, "Bilgewater?"

He could tell by the tone of her voice that she was smiling."I thought you'd never ask."

* * *

With promises and plans of peace, the armies of Valoran left the Institute one by one. Ashe and Irelia, with the longest distances to travel, left first, followed shortly by the Rakkor and Yordles. Noxus and Demacia possessed the largest amount of remaining soldiers and took the longest to organize; as they neared mobilization, the leaders came together in one last meeting.

"You're going to Noxus?" Lux questioned Garen in awe. "Wow, can I come visit you?"

Marcus frowned at the blonde's comment; he was already upset to learn the Demacian soldier was following Katarina home. "It's not a resort, little girl. You'd be eaten alive," he grumbled.

Lux was undaunted. "Oh, I guess you've never heard of me," she grinned. "I'm intimately familiar with the Noxian High Command. Thank you for your concern though!"

His scowl only deepened but before he could reply, Garen interjected, "Marcus barely wants me there, so you better make it so I can come home."

His sister smiled, sweet with a crafty undertone few would recognize. Beside Marcus, Talon sized up the blonde, his future ally; the ambition he could see in her smile almost made him uneasy. Almost.

But no one else seemed to notice and the mage threw her arms around her brother, squeezing him tight and declaring, "You can count on me!"

The siblings held each other tight and when they parted the threat of tears glimmered behind Lux's bright blue eyes. Sniffling, she moved aside and Jarvan approached him, hand extended. "We'll get things sorted out. Then you'll both be welcome in Demacia."

Garen clasped the prince's hand and gave it shake, then pulled his friend into a hug. "Thanks, Jarvan. I wish I could come back now." And in a whisper, he added, "You're not alone."

With a cough of embarrassment, Jarvan pushed away from him, but cracked a small smile, his first in days. "See you soon, then," he asserted.

"Well let's get moving," Marcus commanded, motioning them to hurry. "We don't have all day."

Garen shot Jarvan and Lux one last smile before he picked up his bag and turned to follow the DuCouteau's away from the Institute of War; if there was anything he'd learned from Katarina it was that hesitation was useless.

After a trying journey for his heart, the enclosed spaces of Noxus felt like it was choking the life out of him. Katarina was pleased to be home, though, and that made the city streets bearable. He knew he would adjust but as they approached the skull-like structure of the High Command, he couldn't help the look of doubt that crossed his face.

The red-head must have seen it, because she held him back to let the others progress past them. When it was just the two of them, she said, "I know I'm asking a lot. I just want you to know that I'm glad you came with me." She offered him a sincere smile, a rare gift in the streets of Noxus. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

And as she laid her heart bare, he knew that he was bound to her forever, would walk into the Void with her if she wanted him to. Suddenly the cold granite walls of the city seemed mild, the noisy alleys a dull chatter. The fear inside him melted away into the cobblestone streets leaving him with a warm assurance.

He wasn't sure what would happen in the coming weeks, but Katarina slipped her hand into his and he knew that whatever may come, they would face it together.


	21. The Only Truth

_*FOUR MONTHS LATER*_

* * *

Valoran had been transformed by war.

Piltover was at the forefront of continental progress; with the help of Bandle City, they'd begun rapid construction on a series of trains to connect the city-states to the Institute of War, the hub of the continent. The Piltoveran government was also in charge of overhauling Zaunite standards, an effort still met with resistance from Council of Zaun and its locals; with the help of Noxus, they were slowly restraining the previously unchecked city.

Marcus DuCouteau had easily regained power in Noxus and reined in the chaos left by Swain's disappearance. His cooperation with the rest of the world, however, was coming around reluctantly as years worth of mistrust and hatred on part of the High Command was slowing progress. But small steps were better than nothing and other than a few stubborn individuals, Noxus as a nation didn't threaten Valoran's well-being.

Without the constant threat of Noxian backlash and Bilgewater piracy, Ionia was free to focus their attentions on their exclusive problem literally hovering over them. The new allies Ionia had found in Freljord, Demacia and, to some extent, Noxus, curbed Syndra's demands, resulting in an uneasy peace in the war-ravaged island. Because of the restrictions being held over Bilgewater, the island was able to connect with the rest of the continent, no longer being forced to fight in order to trade or travel.

Along with Ionia, Bandle City flourished because of the enforced restrictions. Yordle ships that were previously sacked by Noxus and Bilgewater were able to sail unhindered. Travel between the city and Piltover, their longtime ally, was safer, and they aided the City of Progress where they could. It was Heimerdinger who led the way on planning the new train system while Meglings and Scouts helped protect workers human and Yordle.

The tenuous unity between the other city-states of Valoran had forced Bilgewater to consider the terms of the order defined by the rest of the world. With their options for the port city suddenly diminished by threat of retaliation, Miss Fortune and Gangplank, who had previously been divided on the direction to take the city, had come together and agreed to follow the lead of the others. Though the port had long been a refuge for pirates, the lawless denizens of Bilgewater were suddenly met with force on the seas from all city-states. It was enough a message for some that piracy was no longer going to be tolerated, not even by the common citizens of the Blue Flame Islands.

Demacia had undergone a short period of turmoil following Jarvan IV's return. Lux and Jarvan's influence on Lilia had been well done; she'd swayed much of the Legislature into believing the King had erred unforgivably in his failure to act in Demacia's interests, which included the exile of those who'd meant to help the most. When the truth came out the city-state had nearly spiraled into riot for the first time since the Lightshield's gained power. It was almost too easy for the pair to convince the King to pass along the crown to his son and live out the rest of his days in the countryside, maintaining what little dignity he remained to him. If there was anything Demacia was known for, it was their unconditional ability to accept what was told to them by its leaders.

Although the Rakkor and Solari had the most to benefit from their new status, the stubborn people were reluctant to change their ways. Leona and Pantheon tempered one another, worked together to both maintain and progress the traditions of their tribes. Under their moderate leadership, the newly founded city-state had begun a slow expansion, working on their communication with the rest of the continent. The problems they faced due to a lack of resources were mitigated as they set aside their pride and accepted trade agreements. They would never be willing to conform completely- they valued combat far too highly for that- but they were determined to keep Mount Targon involved in the political realm.

Ashe's absence had nearly provoked war in Freljord as Sejuani pursued her claim to the throne of Freljord with a renewed aggression. It was all Tryndamere could do to quell the threats of an uprising and he hadn't done it alone; he'd been forced to accept aid from the mysterious Frostguard, their tenuous allies from Eastern Freljord. When Ashe returned the Frostguard had retreated like melting ice back into the mountainous region as though they'd never come. As soon as Jarvan had come into power, Ashe had pressed him for an alliance. He conceded that each would send an envoy to survey the state of affairs in their city-states and would come to an agreement based upon their observations. For the exhausted Queen, the work was only just beginning.

And on a continental scale, League matches were becoming obsolete with nearly all city-states pushing for peace, a blessing to some, a curse to others. Without a High Council of Summoners, the Institute of War didn't hold the same sway, leaving the cities to decide among themselves when it was necessary to battle. With how close they'd come to a full-scale Rune War, most chose to resist fighting when they could.

But tucked away for the last month in an inn on the infamous Fleet Street in Bilgewater, Garen and Katarina's only knowledge of the happening's of the world came from the newspaper and the occasional letter from the friends they'd made.

"Time to get up!" Katarina purred, pouncing onto the bed where Garen lay curled up with his arm across his eyes to block the light. As she climbed on top of him, she threw a newspaper down on his chest and informed, "You have to read the paper today!"

Garen groaned as he opened his eyes to their sunny room, though it was as much for being awoken as for the sensation of her hips grinding into his; she'd long since perfected the art of moving in a way that aroused him in an instant. Her hair pooled around them in a red curtain while she nibbled his ear, whispering the things she would do to him if he woke up in the next minute. In response, his sleepy hands moved up the bare skin of her legs, feeling the light scarring along them from an old acid burn before they reached the sensitive area between them. When his fingers attempted to slip inside the loose shorts she wore to bed, the assassin placed the paper over his eyes.

"First you have to read the front page," she smirked.

"I'd rather not," he growled, flipping their positions and sending the newspaper scattering onto the bed. "This is much more entertaining," he whispered, his hands sliding beneath her shirt.

The red-head yielded a soft moan as his convincing hands made their point, but when he moved to pull her shirt over her head, she grasped a page from the news and pressed it into his face with a chiding noise. Sighing, he took the document from her hands and collapsed beside her, grumbling as he readjusted his uncomfortably tight pants. "This better be good," he complained; she only laughed in response.

Midway through scanning the front page he sat up with a grunt of surprise. "This is from today?" he clarified.

"Yep." She propped herself up on her elbow and pointed at a particular paragraph. "Did you read the part about Jarvan naming Lux Chief Adviser over the Legislative Council?"

He skipped to where her finger rested, then jumped back to reread the entire article. "Step down? How the fuck did they convince Jarvan III to 'step down'?" he marveled. "I can't believe Jarvan's the king now..."

Satisfied that he'd read enough, the red-head plucked the paper from his hands and supplanted herself in his arms. "I don't know how they did it but I bet they'll be inviting you back home any day now," she pointed out.

The Demacian's eyes widened at the truth in her statement, then he grabbed her face and pulled her into a deep kiss that left them both breathless.

"Come home with me?" he gushed when they parted. "It's not forever, just for a little-"

"You don't even have to ask," she interrupted with a grin. "I told you, you're stuck with me."

The simplicity of her statement and the depth of its meaning made his heart leap into his throat. "How did I get so lucky?" he choked. He didn't wait for her response; instead, he kissed the tender part of her neck where it curved into her shoulder, an act that never ceased to render her speechless.

Her answer came out in a pleasured gasp, lost in the rustle of sheets.

* * *

Garen felt as if he were in a dream as he and Katarina approached the last trickle of the Serpentine River, the only direction they could approach Demacia because of its natural boundaries. Five months ago he had thought it would be the last time he would see it, but there it was, unchanged save for the people waiting on the other side: Anders, the new commander of the Dauntless Vanguard; Lux, grinning brightly despite the dark circles under her eyes; Lilia, her serious face set and lined by age; and Jarvan, a smile on his face despite the emptiness in his eyes.

Katarina tugged him towards the shallow point of the river, leading him towards his family with a confidence that surprised him. Holding his breath, he took one step, then another, crossed the stream with his fingers entwined with hers.

At the other side, Anders raised his arm in salute. "Welcome back, sir. And to you, Ms. DuCouteau."

Garen joined in a grin with the woman beside him, shared a knowing look with her. "It's good to be home," he said. With a squeal, Lux launched herself at his chest and clung to him like a child, though she stepped aside to allow Jarvan space to allow his friend a short embrace. When his eyes set on Lilia, she merely glanced toward Katarina, gave them a short nod, and turned away.

After Lux's excited chatter drifted off, the convoy began to move and as it did, Garen stopped, leaned in toward Katarina, and murmured, "I love you, Katarina, and I never want to be without you."

Her honest eyes shone and his knees felt as weak as they had at their first encounter when she quietly echoed his words.

In every way, their relationship had been unique. There was no romance or love at first sight, simply two soldiers carrying orders to kill. Their courtship had taking place over tavern brawls, political negotiations, and battlefields. And when emotion showed, it was a fleeting thing, revealed only in the secret of night. Yet it was built against all reason, in spite of the pain, chaos, and lies which surrounded them. Times would change and he was sure their problems were far from over. But they would always have each other and that was the only thing of consequence, the only truth.

* * *

_End_.


	22. Author's Note

_JUST A QUICK LITTLE UPDATE AND THANK YOU..._

Dearest readers,

First of all, thank you everyone for making this story (as of now) the most reviewed League fic on the site! I am so thrilled that this has gotten so much attention from the League community and beyond (now if only Red's read fanfiction)! It feels like I'm walking on clouds, ladies and gents, so I can't say thank you enough!

On to business! Although The Only Truth has been finished for some time now, it never truly felt over until now. The reason for this is as follows: I have begun a sequel to The Only Truth called Walk the Line. While I don't anticipate the first chapter being finished for another few weeks (summer classes and whatnot), I have uploaded a teaser/prologue to (hopefully) get people excited. In the mean time, I've filled the gap with some short stories looking at different people in what I'm calling "The Only Truth Universe." I've gotten such good responses, better than I ever anticipated, for which I am so completely grateful. Seriously, you loyal readers who stuck this out until the end really made this possible and kept me going. I've read every review and tried to respond with, at least, a "thank you" to them all (though I'm sure I've missed some...I'm sorry if I did). I am truly indebted to your support. I hope you've enjoyed seeing character progress as much as I have enjoyed writing them, and I hope you'll continue to follow Garen and Katarina's story as it changes and grows. Thank you again, from the bottom of my heart!

Love,

Princess Garen/Kittytoast


End file.
